


Shattered Memories

by Mariadoria



Category: Avatar (2009), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Archery, Centaurs, Ikran, Jungle, Marauders in a painting, Pandora - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 01:36:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14009343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariadoria/pseuds/Mariadoria
Summary: What with an unknown Animagus form, a mad-man chasing after him and breaking into the Ministry of Magic, being whisked off to another world and time shouldn't have been a surprise for Harry Potter.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter watched as the members of Dumbledore’s Army filed out of the Room of Requirement. He was exhausted from teaching the students about defensive charms and spells, though he wouldn’t change it for anything. It felt amazing to defy Umbridge. Oh, Umbridge, who was determined to undermine everything about Hogwarts in the name of the Ministry of Magic. So far she had banned organised groups and in her class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, she didn’t use magic. Absolutely idiotic in Harry’s opinion, which was why he had the words I must not tell lies scarred into the back of his hand.

Harry tucked his wand in his robes and turned to Ron and Hermione, who were repairing the damage that had been done on the Room during the lesson. It was quite extensive, with the mirrors shattered and one pillar broken. Not wanting to disrupt the lesson to repair the damage, Hermione had called everyone to the other side of the room where there was no hazards except for flying spells. 

“Harry, come and help, will you?” called Hermione. Her hair was a frazzled mess, though she didn’t seem to notice as she has delved deep into the task. A smile was plastered over her face at the day's meeting. So many people she had helped has successfully performed the spell, which was a plus in her book. Well, many books. 

“Alright, I’m coming.” The door slammed shut as the last student exited, echoing throughout the room. He walked over, though rather than pulling out his wand, he thought to the room. “I need the room to repair itself.” He ran back as a piece of pillar whizzed past his face, nearly crashing into him. Ron and Hermione jumped out of the way, watching in awe. Hermione’s eyes widened as debris flew past her with no spell or anything holding it up. 

The room was repaired, everything back to the way it was. Cautiously, Hermione walked up to a pillar and poked it, as if afraid it was going to fall down

“That was brilliant, mate,” exclaimed Ron, fingering his wand. He did look slightly annoyed, though, as his Reparo charms hadn’t been doing much. “I didn’t know you could perform wandless magic.”

“I can’t. It is the magic of the room. But thank you,” said Harry, blushing. Even after nearly five years of living in the wizarding world, the compliments he received from his friends still meant a lot to him. His so called ‘family’, the Dursleys, had never offered a single compliment his way, instead giving him endless chores and treating him like dirt. To the Dursleys, magic was a foul, freaky thing that ought to be punishable by law. That along with scruffiness, badly maintained gardens and dust on company cars. 

Together they made their way out of the room, checking the corridors before darting out, robes billowing. Only when they made it three corridors over did they stop and suck in deep breaths. Being caught was something that the three of them dearly didn’t want to happen. They would immediately be referred to Umbridge, the toad, who would take it that they were betraying the Ministry of Magic and, by extension, the entire of Wizarding Britain. She would then expel them and snap their wands. Being the ‘Boy-Who-

Lived’, the much hated moniker, meant nothing in Umbridge’s mind, as Voldemort was gone, of course.

“Harry, how did you know to do that so fast?” asked Hermione, unable to contain her curiosity anymore. “I mean, I would have known to do it, of course, if I had known that such a thing existed.. Is there a book on the Room of Requirement that I haven’t read?” Her eyes shined at the thought of a new book, one that she hadn’t read. Harry chuckled, though something cold snaked into him and it felt fake.

Harry shook his head and walked on, suddenly feeling exhausted. It felt as if his shoulders were being weighed down by something, and he knew it was pressure. Pressure to be perfect, pressure to be the saviour. Pressure, pressure, pressure, PRESSURE! 

Suddenly it became too much for Harry. He bolted for the bathroom, bile rising in his throat. The world turned into tunnel vision, black penetrating the edges of his vision. His hand reached out for something, someone, anything and it found a stone door frame. His trembling fingers wrapped around it, fumbling for a grasp on reality, a semblance of life. Footsteps thundered through his conscience and the concerned voices echoed. A metallic crash sounded, jumping back and forth.

His knees felt hollow and his fingers were tingling at the end. Harry sank down, his hands over his mouth as if they could protect him from the world. This was something he had never experienced before. It felt deadly, cold, as if he was being constricted and pulled apart at the same time. Black spots danced at the edge of his vision.

“HARRY!” Hermione’s voice shot through his head, a shard of glass against a window pane. “Harry, what’s happening?” Harry could hear himself saying sorry. He was being pulled into a whorl of panic, despair, darkness.

“Harry, breathe!” His hands were pulled away from his face and his back made to be straight. Air was coming in hard and fast, unable to slow down. “Please!” Harry held onto the word with everything he could. Please. Focusing on the faces swimming in front of him, he pulled in breath after breath of cold air. Slowly the world came into focus and there was no more muffled sound. 

Harry was shivering, tendrils of panic were fading but still there, wriggling into crevices and latching on. Harry blearily looked up and saw Hermione and Ron, both with tears running down their faces. Hermione was holding his hands down by his side, his fingers were still twitching. Ron was sitting, with his arms wrapped around his knees, eyes flitting side to side, looking for a way to help.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing out of Harry’s mouth. Hermione shook her head and sat down next to him, on the left. Ron did the same, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. Only now did Harry notice that they were huddled in an alcove, the suit of armour that was there before spread out over the floor. He must have broken it when he collapsed. What will people think of me now? 

Harry knew what had happened to him. When he was still at primary school he had hidden in the library to get away from Dudley. While looking in a corner, he had found a book on Anxiety and Panic Attacks. And with all of the years pressures, the slander of the Daily Prophet, the expectations of people, Harry had broken.

“Harry, mate, there is no need to be sorry,” said Ron. His voice was quivering, something Harry had never heard before. He had caused this. Ron was breaking as well because of him. Harry made to stand up, though his knees buckled under him. Smiling a watery smile, Ron stood up and helped Harry get up. Harry 

leant on Ron, feeling vulnerable. 

His legs started becoming weak again, but he pushed it down. He wouldn’t be weak, not here not now.

Break.

Slowly, the trio made their way back to the Gryffindor tower without meeting anyone, a small mercy. The Fat Lady noticed their somber looks and accepted the password without saying anything. A wave of warm air washed over them and Harry visibly relaxed. People looked up when they made their way over to the fire, though quickly looked back down. 

Harry fell into the chair by the fire, his eyes heavy. Overwhelmed by the Attack, knowing what caused it but not knowing why it chose that moment to strike. He felt the heavy presence of sleep weighing him down, though a voice cut into his shaky bliss.

“Harry, you need to go up to bed,” said Hermione. Groggily, he nodded, though made no effort to move. Ron snorted, glad that a little bit of Harry was coming back. A small smirk danced on Harry’s lips as he imagined the glare that Hermione was giving Ron right now. He had no idea how much time had passed since the Attack, though he knew it was late. 

Groaning, Harry pushed himself up and trudged over to the stairs to the dorm. It just felt too much to stay awake, He heard Ron get up and follow, albeit quietly. A hand on his shoulder comforted him and guided him up the stairs and into his room. They reached it and through his slits of eyes Harry could see a faded scarlet colour, exactly like the common room.

Harry opened his eyes more and stumbled over to the window, throwing it open. The cold air battered him awake, gushing over him. Stars dotted the sky and Harry gently smiled. This was peace, what he needed to stare at to calm him down and instill a sense of calm in him. He settled down on the window seat and just gazed. 

Ron sat down on the other end of the seat and drew his knees up to his chin. Harry shifted his gaze to his best friend. He was acting differently after the Attack. Silent and somber, barely saying anything. It was a change from the brash, loud Gryffindor who he was used to.

“Don’t blame yourself, Ron,” Harry whispered. Ron’s head whipped up, eyes wide. “It’s not your fault.”

Ron sighed and shifted uncomfortably. “I know, Hermione told me. It’s just that I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Harry cocked his head to the side. “How so?”

“You’ve always been the strong one, there for others, jumping headfirst into danger without a second thought. To see you break down like that, it was hard, you know?” 

“I think so. I mean, you were my first friend―” Harry clamped his hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. Ron’s narrowed.

“What do you mean I was your first friend? Surely you had friends before Hogwarts, right?” Ron gazed at Harry, who lowered his eyes, hair falling over his face. Slowly, Harry shook his head, cheeks turning bright red in shame. Ron’s eyes widened and he immediately moved over to embrace Harry in a hug.

“I’m sorry Ron, I wasn’t meant to say that. Can you just forget it?” Harry asked, drawing himself into the corner. 

“No, I can’t just forget it. You should have had friends before me, and I’ve been a bloody terrible friend to you.” Only now was Ron realising how much he cared for Harry, his best friend, the one willing to risk his life for him and do it again. Reckoning that it was time he returned the favour, Ron slipped into comforting mode, something which he hadn’t done since Ginny had been taken to the Chamber of Secrets.

“You haven’t, Ron,” said Harry. He sounded like he had been crying, his voice hoarse, rough, sandpaper. “Been a crap friend I mean. You’ve always been there for me, even though we have had our little spats.” Ron chuckled.

“Seriously, Harry? You call last year a little spat? I alienated you and left you for months because of my hotheaded jealousy. You call that being a good friend? I was a complete and utter git.” A cool breeze whispered through the window, slightly moving the hangings around the beds. Harry shivered, though made no move to close the curtain.

“Yeah, but you came back, didn’t you?”

“Only after I saw that you had to battle a bloody dragon! That is awful, and I regret every moment of it now.”

“Ron, it’s alright. I couldn’t ask for better friends than you and Hermione. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t have friends before Hogwarts. I have both of you now and it was worth the wait.” Harry said. He looked up and was shocked to see tears in Ron’s eyes. 

“What did I do to deserve you, Harry?” he said, rubbing the tears away and turning to gaze out the window. 

“You sat with me on the train?” Harry suggested. “Gave me someone to share with? You know that was the most wonderful feeling, being able to share something with someone. I remember it very vividly. And then you advised me against Malfoy. I can’t imagine the fate I would have suffered had I been in Slytherin.” Harry shuddered. Ron gave a watery chuckle.

“You don’t have to talk about the Dursley’s, Harry, I won’t make you. Maybe for the time being it can just be our secret?” Ron said.

“Yes. Thank you, Ron. I really needed that,” said Harry. It was true. Now that someone knew about his time before Hogwarts, even though it wasn’t the full of it.

Harry reached over Ron and closed the window, the metal latch clicking. Ron wiped the last of his tears away and told Harry he was going to the bathroom. Harry nodded and walked over to his bed. His legs weren’t wobbly anymore, so he made it there in a few playful leaps. He wasn’t sure why he had leapt over to his bed, though he felt mischief coiling in his chest, waiting to be unleashed.

It was funny, Harry mused, how one could feel so many emotions in one day. Panic, fear, comfort, mischief, leadership. Now that he thought about, he went through a torrent of emotions each day without realising it. The one that stuck out to him was relief. Relief that his friends were there to support him and help him through troubled times. He didn’t know where he would be without them.

Green eyes darting around, they landed on the crumpled pillow at the top of his unmade bed. Usually he 

made his bed, but that morning he had woken up exhausted and late for breakfast. Smirking, harry reached forward and picked the pillow up. He moved to stand by the door to the bathroom. Hearing the sound of the washbasin being turned off, he snickered. 

Ron appeared and only had time to say a quick, “What?” before he was hit in the face with a pillow. It made a muffled flump noise. Ron fell down to the floor, though scrambled out of the way before he could be hit with the pillow again.

Picking up his own, Ron yelled, “En guard, fiend!” and they were engaged in a full on pillow fight. Leaping over trunks and dancing around the heater in the middle of the room. 

“You will never beat me, blue-eyes!” laughed Harry.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You’re going down, Potter!”

“Right back at you, Weasley!”

Right as Harry was about to land the winning hit, there was a tapping at the window. Harry looked over and saw a white blob hovering outside the window, amber eyes and all. He rushed over to it and opened it for the second time that night. 

Hedwig flew right in and landed on the end of Harry’s bed. Her amber eyes were indignant and when Harry came over to collect the letter she nipped him on the ear.

“Alright, girl, I understand. I should have let you in earlier,” Harry laughed, stroking her wing. She hooted indignantly and then playfully nipped his finger. Harry smiled and took the letter off of her leg. 

“Who’s it from Harry?” asked Ron. “And why did she come up here instead of the great hall?” Harry was wondering the same thing, though he had his answer the second he read the handwriting, or rather paw printing, on the front of the envelope. A smile overtook his face, a grin from ear to ear. More emotions. Fascinating.

“It’s from Sirius, Ron.”


	2. Deliberations

Harry grinned and didn’t even bother sitting down. The parchment was rough in his hand, the ink slightly splattered, and the wax seal wonky. A crest that he assumed was something to do with the marauders was on it, a stag, dog and wolf, with the moon shining over all of them. Harry didn’t care about the slight imperfections in the slightest, though. The letter was from his severely misunderstood godfather, who was hiding in his hated family house at the moment, and for the foreseeable future. It angered him how people just overlooked the not so little fact that Sirius hadn’t received a trial. He had just been thrown in Azkaban without a second glance, based on circumstantial evidence. Well, he thought, at least he was able to fleetingly see him and receive scarce letters as well.

“Well, open it then,” said Ron. His voice, even though it was still somber, had a thread of excitement weaving under it. He liked Sirius almost as much as Harry did. Not quite as much, and lacking the family bond, but almost as much. 

“Alright, Ron, I’m doing it,” Harry chuckled. To be honest, Harry didn’t need to wait for anyone to tell him to open it. Harry very carefully slipped his finger under the wax, picking around the edges. As much as he wanted to see the contents of the letter immediately, Harry didn’t want to destroy the envelope. The wax seal was open. Harry hastened slightly and soon a letter was sitting in his hand.

The familiar script of Sirius Black stared back at him. Harry could almost see his godfather writing the letter, pouring love into every word he penned down on the page. Even now, two years after escaping Azkaban, Sirius still had problems expressing certain emotions. Love was not one of them. The very first hug he had received from Sirius, Harry had known it was genuine. He felt sorry for Sirius, being cooped up in a house for fear of going outside. Harry couldn’t even begin to fathom how horrible it might be to be trapped in a place like Grimmauld Place all year. True, he had experience with the Dursley’s but at least then he was able to roam free around the neighborhood.

Blinking to clear away the memories, Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The writing was shaky in some place and had a few tear splotches over it as if Sirius had cried while writing it. He probably had. Harry began to read and felt a smile spreading over his face.

Dear Harry,

I woke up this morning to Hedwig banging on the front window. She may just be an owl, but she can make on hell of a racket. Anyway, I let her in and she looked at me like Professor McGonagall does when you forget your homework. It was scary. I tried telling her I was going to send a letter later in the day to you with another owl. My hand is still bandaged. I think you’re owl has a little jealousy problem, Prongs Junior! 

I honestly don’t have much to write about here. Dear Mother of mine still screams when too much noise is made. I wish she would just shut up. Maybe I could demolish the entire wall, with a segehammer? Is that what it is called? She would freak out if I did something the muggle way. Kreacher is still grumbling about ‘blood traitors’ and such. It really grates on your nerves after awhile, you know?

I know that you haven’t heard much about your parents except for what they looked like and what subjects they excelled in. I thought I would expand on this base and tell you a story about when we were trying to become Animagi.

Here Harry stopped and glanced at Ron, who was reading over his shoulder. Excitement broiled in his stomach, anticipation at learning something more about his parents than their looks and subjects. Ron 

nodded and Harry turned his neck around so quick he got whiplash. Grimacing and rubbing his neck, he continued.

It was the middle of November, and the snow was just beginning to set in. Us, being the Marauders, were coming from a huge magical snowball fight. We were wet but happy. That night, we had plans to go over the spell for becoming an Animagus. We had written a whole journal about the process and eventually found the spell. It was much easier than the potion, which took months to brew. Plus, potions reminded us of Snivellus so we didn’t want to do that.

The thing is, with the spell, you only have one go. You can only cast it once in your life, that’s it. If you mess it up, too bad. You end up with a botched Animagus form for the rest of your life. I mean, sometimes it turns out alright, like the guy who was turning into a bird and ended up being himself with eagle wings on his back, but then there are the unfortunate cases. I shan’t go into those, though.

So, we performed the spell the next week after being sure that it would work. It did work. Hilarity ensued. I remember it clear as day when James grew antlers. I swear I had never laughed as much as I did that day. Then I grew a tail and had ears coming out of the top of my head. James laughed back at me. It was a good time. Of course, with us being the marauders, we passed it off as a prank. No one expected a thing. Except McGonagall, who tailed us for a few days. We evaded her. Except for the glitter bomb we set off in her class. That earned us a detention. One more for the record. I can tell you now that we broke the record for detentions. Oh, those were the days.

The one person that nearly found out was the one who James had fallen head over heels in love with: Lily Evans. She had quite the temper. Matched her hair. The second James walked into the common room with mini antlers she thought he was turning in Bambi. I understand why. She then became suspicious and, as Lily does, investigated. She almost found out, though James seemed overjoyed that she was taking and interest in us for once, without it being the other way around. In fact, she was practically stalking us. When Lily wants to find something else, I swear she turns into a sleuth that is impossible to deal with.

Harry smiled at the image of his mother sneaking around in a Sherlock Holmes costume, magnifying glass and all.

Luckily, she didn’t find out. It would have been a minor disaster. And by minor I mean major. James seemed enamoured with it. Until the change happened. Then the animal parts disappeared. She layed off us but still sent us glances. James loved the fact that he wasn’t just being yelled at by her for asking her out again.

And there is another week or so inside of the Marauder’s life. Admittedly, it was one of the more exciting ones, though when you are a Marauder, every week is exciting. Well, was. 

At those two words, Harry felt a single tear trickle down his cheek.

Harry, I know you. Don’t cry. This was meant to be a happy letter, it is a happy letter. I love you with every fiber of my being, never ever forget that.

 

Love from,

Sirius.

Harry sat down on the bed and reread the letter. Inside his head was a cacophony of noise. He had finally found out more information about his parents, about the Marauders. The hole that was inside him was slowly being filled, though it would always be there. A strange combination of a blinding smile and tears streaming down his face was prevalent, but Harry couldn’t care less. The sheer fact that he knew more about his parents pushed aside everything around him. He was wrapped in a warm cocoon of joy and hollow longing.

Harry barely noticed Ron sit down next to him, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulders. He would give anything to be closer to his parents, even if it meant arguing with his crush every second of the day. Not that he had enough courage to approach Cho, even if he wanted to. After the disaster of a ball last year, what little confidence Harry had had evaporated, shriveled, gone back to the hole it came from.

“I would give anything to be closer to them, you know,” said Harry, longingly looking out of the once again open window. 

“I know, Harry,” replied Ron. “I mean, my parents can be a pain sometimes, though I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But seriously, do you know how many times I have been asked to ask you about some obscure muggle device?” A smirk was on his face, a good natured, teasing one.

“The Marauders, excluding Pettigrew,” Harry shuddered at even saying the name of the traitorous rat, “they just had so many wonderful adventures, you know? Imagine becoming an Animagus right under McGonagall’s nose?”

“I would have thought that they would have been outed quite quickly, with McGonagall being one herself and all.” Ron’s face was thoughtful.

“We haven’t had an adventure in a while, have we?” It was a statement rather than a question. Ron raised an eyebrow. “A good natured one without murderous lunatics chasing after us, I mean,” Harry clarified quickly. “You know, just sneaking out of bed after hours, maybe starting a food fight, or turn Malfoy’s hair pink! Imagine that!” A rather diabolical smirk spread across his face and Ron pretended to back away in fear.

“It would be fun─”

“It is fun,” corrected Harry, clutching the letter close. Well, as close as he could without crumpling the slightly yellow parchment. 

“Alright, it is fun. And I guess it would bring us closer to the Marauders. But how will mere pranks bring us closer to them?” asked Ron. He was genuinely puzzled. He could understand the desire to be closer to his parents, hell, they had been dead for his entire life, though he couldn’t understand how pranking was going to do that. Sure, the Marauders were known for pulling pranks. He knew that much from Fred and George’s incessant ramblings about them.

“Oh, that is just one way of getting closer. I have a very specific thing that we can do to become closer to them.”

“And what would that be, oh wise descendant of a Marauder?” 

“Well, I thought we could pull off their biggest secret.”

“What is that?” Even though he feigned curiosity, Ron had a pretty solid idea of what Harry was talking about.

“I know you know. I know you too well to know when you are trying to hide that you know something that you think I shouldn’t know that you know.” Ron paused, looking at Harry with his mouth agape. Harry stopped for a minute and tried to comprehend what had just come out of his mouth. “That wasn’t words,” Harry said.

“I agree, mate. I think that is something only the brilliant Hermione would have been able to decipher. And alright, I think I know what you’re talking about.”

Harry waggled his eyebrows. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“You’re talking about us becoming unregistered Animagi, right?” Ron said, sighing. This was one of the more interesting ideas Harry had come up with. Though, he had to admit, there was something thrilling about the idea of doing something so secret.

“Hit the nail right on the head there, my friend,” exclaimed Harry. He jumped up, robes jumping around with his erratic dance moves. Ron watched as Harry danced around the room, completely different from twenty minutes earlier. Ron suddenly sniggered, a thought occurring that would be a dilemma for both of them to solve.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“I think we may have one person who may not agree to this.” Harry stopped dancing mid step and put his head in his hands.

“Hermione.”

Break.

“No.”

“Hermione―”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“But―” 

“I will not help you two go behind the teacher’s backs and break the law. Take a minute to consider what you are proposing!”

Harry stood still for five seconds, hand on chin, and said, “Already done.”

“You can’t seriously want to do this!” yelled Hermione. Her voice echoed around the Room of Requirement, which was the only place they could think of to talk to her without other people overhearing them and reporting their suspicious activities.

Ron’s shoulders slumped. Harry had been so excited, so happy at the idea. He had been as well, looking forward to doing something that his brothers hadn’t done for once. Now their plan was ruined. He knew that when Hermione made up her mind on something, there was no stopping her. She was a force to be reckoned with, that one.

“And you can’t seriously want to stop us. Just think how fun it would be! Like the ultimate prank we could pull on people.” Harry’s eyes glazed over. Ron was sure he was dreaming about a certain pink haired ferret screaming at people that an animal had just turned his hair pink.

“I don’t know what had gotten into you two. This is the final straw. You are not becoming Animagi behind the Ministry’s back. You just can’t!” Hermione emphasized her point by picking up her bag and turning on her heel, headed for the door. “This is the last I want to hear of this ridiculous plan!”

Harry watched as she went, mind running a mile a minute. He was weighing up the pros and cons of either becoming an unregistered Animagus without Hermione with them, or doing it the proper way, with Hermione. It wouldn’t be the same without her. Like being excited at having an ice cream and then having 

your cousin knock it out of your and hand stand on it with a grimy boot. He finally made a decision.

“Hermione,” he said, “please wait.” Hermione huffed and stopped just before turning the ornate metal handle. She turned around and stood with her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised.

“Yes? This better not be more on this ridiculous notion,” she said. Harry hesitated, glancing at Ron, who was desperately trying to figure out what his friend was going to say. He ploughed forward, sacrificing the anticipation of deception for doing stuff with his all of his friends united. Harry inwardly cringed at how cheesy that sounded.

“What if we...whatifwedidn’tdoitbehindtheteacher’sbacks?” Harry gabbled. Hermione looked very confused.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What if we didn’t do it behind the teacher’s backs? What if we went to McGonagall and asked her to teach us the process?” he said, a little sad. Hermione gave him an approving nod.

“That is more like it. Ron, close your mouth, we are not a codfish,” Hermione said with a small grin. She had been looking for a chance to use that saying for years. Harry vaguely recognised that phrase, while Ron was outright puzzled. Why had Harry chosen to do it with the teachers? Just last night he was lamenting their sore lack of adventure and pranks. Now he was throwing away their grand plan? 

“Harry, what? I thought you said that you wanted an adventure, to do something that would bring you closer to your parents.” Hermione looked up sharply at that. She hadn’t heard that piece of information. “This isn’t an adventure. No trying to find the Marauders’ journal, no sneaking around with your cloak. This is a Ministry regulated course. It would be outright boring.”

Harry sighed and flopped down into a cushy chair that materialised out of this air. “I know. It’s something that I really want to do, to become closer to my parents.” Hermione gained that look in her eyes she got when trying to figure something out. “Even though doing it the way that they did would be better, would make me feel more of a bond to them, I guess just becoming an Animagus could do the same thing on a lower scale.” 

Ron and Hermione sat down on respective chairs of their own, Hermione dropping her bag on the floor with an unceremonious flump. 

“Is there something I missed?” asked Hermione, fingers tapping on the arm of the chair. “I know you knew the Marauders were Animagi, but where did this sudden desire to become one come from?” For some unknown reason Harry shrunk into the chair. 

“A letter came from Sirius last night,” said Ron. Harry perked up and began speaking.

“He wrote us a story about when they were becoming Animagi. It was amazing to learn something new about my parents, beyond their looks and subjects. It was enlightening. I then realised that we have a severe lack of pranks and tricks in our lives. Granted, we have Fred and George, but where are the ones we did? The adventures? The harmless, ones, without being chased by a crazed lunatic?

“I thought it would be nice to become closer to them in any way we could. Then the idea of becoming an Animagus came up. It’s just so exciting, you know? Something new and exciting, fresh from what other people are doing. It’s also the perfect way to become closer to them, you know? And it wouldn’t be complete without you guys doing it as well. I mean, when have we ever done something apart?”

Hermione was looking at the situation with new eyes. She understood perfectly why Harry wanted to 

become an Animagus. In fact, there was nothing her logic could do bring up a single rebuttal to Harry’s argument. He had every right to be closer to his parents, and he had figured out the perfect way to do it. Who was she to stop him? Unless, she thought, he was doing it illegally. 

“I understand. Well, if you are so eager to do it, let’s go find McGonagall, shall we?” Hermione stood up from her chair, a wooden one with a striped back and seat, and strode over to the door. A stunned Harry and Ron sat in their chairs, eyes wide. Who knew they could have turned Hermione’s choices around so quickly. 

Hermione opened the door and beckoned for them to come. Harry shot up and ran so fast he crashed straight into the door. Ron strolled over and laughed at the groaning Harry, who was rubbing his head. The side of his head without the scar, strangely enough. Chortling, the group made their way through the halls, navigating people who glanced at the happy three weirdly. 

They found their way to McGonagall’s classroom. Harry hesitated, then knocked decisively on the door. The knock was the complete opposite to his feelings, though. Harry’s stomach was a mess of knotted snakes and tittering butterflies, and his brain wasn’t much better off. 

The door opened and McGonagall looked surprised to see three anxious but happy Gryffindor’s standing outside her door. 

“Yes?” she asked, ushering them inside. Her pointed witches hat bobbed in time with her walk, robes swishing on the well worn floor. They sat down on three magically conjured chairs before her desk. McGonagall steepled her hands and stared intently at them, waiting for one of them to answer.

“Professor, I was wondering if we could ask you about something?” said Harry, disappointment still evident in his voice, though well concealed. 

“And what would that be, Mr Potter?”

“We did some research and came across a particular Transformation that we would like to be able to complete, and we needed your help with it.” Hermione looked at Harry’s downcast eyes and began to reconsider her decision. Maybe it would be worth going behind backs to keep Harry happy.

Throughout the year Hermione had noticed that Harry was slowly becoming more downcast and morose. He was more quiet than usual, though still made generic small talk. She was worried about him. To see now that she may be taking something away from Harry that would lift his spirits enough to take him back to his old self. It hurt her to see him declining and not be able to to do anything about it.

“Which Transformation is that, Mr Potter?” asked McGonagall.

“The Hedgehog to Umbrella one, Professor,” interrupted Hermione. Harry and Ron’s heads snapped up, though they tried to keep their surprise to a minimum.

“I thought that you had already mastered that spell, Miss Granger.”

“I have, though there is just one aspect of it that puzzles me. Why does the umbrella handle not have the pattern of the hedgehog’s spines? Mine turned out pink of all colours, which is not something I tend to favour. I all the lessons I have attended I remember you saying that small characteristics of the animal bleed through, mostly in colour and pattern,” said Hermione. She came up with it on the spot.

McGonagall looked appropriately miffed, along with Harry and Ron.

“I could not be sure of that, Miss Granger. I will do some research into the subject and let you know. In the meantime, you could take these notes and read through them. You may find something of interest within 

them.” Hermione knew the answers were in these papers. McGonagall was never one to just hand over information to her, when she was so dedicated to her studies.

Hermione received the papers and thanked McGonagall, who bade them farewell. Ron shut the door softly, still slightly intimidated by McGonagall.

“Why?” asked Harry suddenly. 

“Because your happiness comes before anything,” Hermione replied without hesitation. “I may not like it, but I need to suck it up sometimes.” Harry grinned and linked arms with both Ron and Hermione, walking briskly down the hall.

“This isn’t the way to the common room,” said Ron. Harry smirked.

“We aren’t going there.”

“There where are we going?”

“The library.” Hermione squealed and fastened her walking pace so that Harry and Ron had to jog to keep up.

“Why are we going there of all places,” groaned Ron. Harry grinned.

“We have a journal to find.”


	3. Treasure Hunt

Harry groaned, burying his face in the pillow. Exhaustion wracked his body, made it seem like there was a weight holding him down, pinning him to the bed. It was a foreign feeling. Never before had he spent so long searching for one particular book. Night after night, day after day, every single free minute was consumed looking for this damn elusive journal. It had caught up to him eventually, evident in the way even his bones seemed bogged down.

They searched every nook and cranny of the library and had no luck. No journal or book or whatever Sirius mentioned in the letter. Harry could tell that Ron and Hermione were trying to keep up the enthusiasm. He could also tell that the excitement of the Animagus Transformation had taken a backburner. He had tried many the motivational speech, albeit ones that required interpreting, though they never worked. It was frustrating to no end.

Harry threw back the duvet with his legs. The cold came at him in a biting wave, making him curl up in a ball. Damn the cold! Slowly, Harry extracted himself from his bed, hastening to put his robes on. Unfortunately, his foot became tangled in the sheet, leading him to faceplant on the floorboards. 

Rubbing his head, Harry abruptly stood up and looked left and then right, checking to make sure no one had seen him fall over. Nobody had. Ron was beginning to stir though, evident from the slight movements of the scarlet hangings around the bed. Also the moaning at it being morning. Just another typical morning. For Ron that was. Harry swore that Ron was allergic to mornings. Not that Harry wasn’t allergic to them as well, at the moment. With all of the hectic searching, he was exhausted.

“Ron, come on, wake up,” Harry prompted, poking the small bump sticking out of the hangings. It retracted immediately, along with a muffled squeak of protest. Harry snickered. He had never heard that noise come out of Ron. The other members of their dorm had already left for breakfast, letting them sleep in. It annoyed Harry a bit. The least they could do was wake them up. Even though they would go right back to sleep.

It was a Friday, the last day of classes before the long awaited weekend. A double sweep of the library was planned, though Ron and Hermione were very reluctant, practically dragging their feet every day. He had noticed a strange exchange between them once, in the form of cheeky grins that left him puzzled. He was still puzzled. Harry could find nothing that could warrant a grin worthy of Fred and George. Unless they were hiding something from him. It was unlikely though. They rarely had secrets that they kept. Maybe they were going to surprise him with something?

Dismissing his runaway thoughts, Harry tore open the hangings and yelled, “RON! You’ve missed breakfast!” Faster than a missile, Ron shot up. His head connected with Harry’s, making him yelp in surprise. The recoil sent him back down to the bed.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Ron exclaimed, hopping up and throwing his robes on backwards. They made their way down to the Great Hall, passing chattering students. Ron was agitated, having found out that breakfast was only halfway done and that he could have stayed in bed for ten minutes more. Harry shrugged his shoulders and skipped into the Great Hall. Ron stared. Never in his entire time at Hogwarts had he seen Harry skip. He snorted at the thought of newspapers getting a hold of it. The Headline flashed before his eyes: ‘Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Skips Into Hall For Breakfast!’

Harry sat down next to Hermione and swore he saw a devious glint shine her eyes. Shaking his head, though not the feeling that his friends were hiding something important from him, Harry tucked into breakfast, annoyed.

“So, Harry,” said Hermione, tapping him on the shoulder. Harry looked up.

“Yes?” He asked, turning back to breakfast.

“Any luck finding the book?” Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

“You honestly think I would be sulking if I had found it?” Hermione nodded her head in understanding, inwardly smirking. Ron sat down next to Harry, putting a large amount of food on his plate.

“Are you sure about that, Harry?” asked Ron, a smirk tugging on his lips.

Harry’s head shot up so hard he got whiplash. Again. 

Break.

The previous day.

Hermione sighed, putting another book back on the shelf. Harry had fallen asleep at a table, Ron was fingering the edge of a yellowed, frayed page that was spattered with ink. Their quest for looking had gone nowhere, and it was driving Hermione up the wall. If they were going to do something completely illegal, they needed to do it quickly and quietly, before people actually figured out what they were doing. Being reported was her nightmare, being expelled even more so. 

A loud thump behind Hermione made her jump. Turning around, she saw that Ron had fallen asleep, his arm sticking straight into the air, wavering from supporting his hand. Deciding that it was time to stop searching, even though Harry would go berserk at her for letting him fall asleep and stop searching, Hermione woke them up. Lately she had been feeling remarkably like an older sister to Harry, who, after the Panic Attack, was having mood swings. He kept the moods hidden under a facade of extreme happiness and enthusiasm, though she could see when his eyes dulled or when he was becoming scared again. She had always wanted a brother, someone to care for.

Being careful not to annoy Madame Pince, who actually drove people away from the library with her incessant shushing, Hermione softly clicked her fingers near their ears to wake them up. Neither stirred. Not a bit. Huffing, Hermione blew a piece of hair out of her face and turned away from them. Honestly. The least they could do was wake up so they actually had a chance of searching without falling flat on their faces, asleep.

While she appreciated Harry’s enthusiasm at wanting to become an Animagus and follow in his father’s footsteps, it was becoming tiring. Searching day after day for this elusive journal that nobody could find. As well as the library, they had discreetly searched Gryffindor Tower, asked the Room of Requirement for help and gathered books on the topic. Hermione snorted. The books revealed nothing about the process of 

becoming an Animagus, just glamorized the Ministry and how it ‘helps the masses.’ It made finding the journal even more important.

A small smile crept over her face. While at first the idea of doing something illegally was intimidating, going behind people’s backs was sort of thrilling, in a way. Of course, being Hermione, she had searched up all of the possible consequences of what could happen to them if they were caught. She didn’t like any of them, but decided to take the risk for Harry. She was glad when she had saved Harry from doing it the proper way. He seemed so much happier, getting some of the spark back in his eye that he lost after the ressurection of Voldemort.

Shuddering at the thought of Harry having to go through something as awful as that, she turned back to Harry and Ron. Deciding to give them bit of a taste of what it would be like being caught, she walked off towards the doors of the library. It wasn’t quite curfew, though Hermione knew that they wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. More likely they would crash into the common room at two in the morning, puffed and cheeks red, after being chased by Madame Pince and Filch through the halls of Hogwarts.

Chuckling at the thought of that, she turned and glanced at them one more time. Just as she was about to leave, a small glimmer showed up in the corner of her eyes. Turning towards it, Hermione slowly tip-toed towards it, feeling remarkably like a sleuth. She crept past Harry and Ron, towards the large window that overlooked the lake and grounds. 

There! A worn brick in the wall was slightly glowing. That was what had caught her eye. Upon further examination, Hermione discovered that the edges around it were slightly loose, like it had been taken out and then replaced. It was strange, though. She had sat at the table by the window many times and gazed at the wall in though. Never had she noticed the out of place brick.

“What is going on here?” she muttered, slipping her fingers into the gap between the brick and the one above it. Careful not to disturb Madame Pince, lest she be screeched at for defiling the library, Hermione wiggled it around. The glimmer grew, stretching around the outside of the brick. Soon it was blinding and she was puzzled how it wasn’t waking up the slumbering boys behind her. 

The brick, rough in her hands, came out. Surprised at how much it weighed, Hermione only just saved it from crashing through the worn table beneath her and turning it to smithereens. Heaving, she put it on a seat and sat down, arms aching. For some reason Hermione felt like she was being tricked into something, that the brick was all a big practical joke being pulled on her by the castle. Surely, it couldn’t be?

Standing up, Hermione looked into the gap and gasped. A piece of yellowed parchment, complete with the Marauder’s logo was pinned against the wall. She hurried to get it out, glancing to her left and right to make sure no one was looking at her. She was just casually dismantling Hogwarts. What wrong was she doing? Every wrong, though no one had to know that. Ever. 

Looking down at the parchment in her hands, Hermione read the faded script, which she guessed belonged to James Potter, on the face it was similar to Harry’s. A smile lit up her face as she read it. A clue. A treasure hunt. She hadn’t taken part in one of those since she was ten, at Easter. Something about them attracted her, the thrill of following clues to a prize, the logical and mental prowess you had to have. 

A plan came to her head, one involving her and Ron. Harry almost never had surprises. Why not give him one tomorrow? She would tell Ron , who would string Harry along until breakfast. 

Satisfied, Hermione replaced the brick. She did a double take as it melded into the wall, the mortar coming back and joining it up to the other bricks. If it weren’t for the piece of parchment in her hands, Hermione would have swore that it was all a crazy hallucination brought on by the need to find the journal on how to become an Animagus. The wall must have been filled with some pretty advanced magic to be able to conceal something in there. According to Hogwarts, A History, people could conceal something if they wanted to, though there was something they had to do. It wasn’t mentioned, though Hermione knew it was more that a simple concealing charm.

Turning around, Hermione was startled for the second time that night. Ron was standing and watching her, stunned. He glanced down at the parchment and up at her face, then at the brick behind her. Honestly, though Hermione, he looks quite gormless. 

“What’s that you’ve got there?” he asked, whispering. Hermione smiled.

“Only a clue to the whereabouts of the journal,” she replied. Ron’s eyes lit up.

“How did you find that? All I saw was you taking a brick out of the wall?”

“I honestly don’t know. Let’s go back to the common room. I’ll tell you my idea then.” After waking Harry up, they left the library, followed by Madame Pince’s constant glare.

Break

Harry’s eyes glowed, a spark evident that wasn’t there before. He managed to keep his mouth shut, knowing that he couldn’t talk about it in the middle of the Great Hall, where there were people everywhere. You never knew who was listening. 

“Seriously?” Harry asked, knee jigging. It was a habit that he had picked up at the beginning of fifth year, after having to do astronomical amounts of waiting for news and to hear from his friends. A smile lit up his face and though he didn’t really need to ask, he could see Hermione and Ron’s eyes were shining in a similar way to his, he still felt he needed to. It amped up the tension and anticipation, in his opinion. 

Ron nodded vigorously, ginger hair bouncing all over the place. “Yes seriously. It’s not the entire thing though.” Harry didn’t seem deterred in the slightest. Any bit of progress was magnificent, in his opinion. “We need to talk about it later though. People are looking at us.” Hermione snorted at Ron.

“Probably because you’re whispering, you idiot. It makes the entire situation seem a whole lot more suspicious.” Ron blinked twice and then burst out laughing. His scrambled egg fell off his fork and back onto his plate, causing him to be admonished by Hermione.

Harry went through the day's classes with a skip in his step, not even bothering to complain about the load of homework they had received from McGonagall, or about Umbridge’s awful teaching methods. Not even 

Malfoy taunting him about his parents in Potions could put a damper on his mood. The last time Harry had felt like this was when he made a friend at primary school. Her name was Samantha, she had blond hair and brown eyes. She was the first person who Harry felt really at home with. Of course, Dudley had to come and scare her away, telling Harry that a freak like him wasn’t allowed to have friends. 

Shaking his head to get rid of the memories, Harry looked up. The three of them were stood outside of the wall holding the secret of the Room of Requirement. It was getting used a lot lately, more so as a research room than for the DA. The members seemed to be getting worried at the infrequency of lessons they had, though no one said anything. 

We need a place to talk. We need a place to talk. We need a place to talk. The door appeared in front of them and they disappeared into it, breathing a sigh of relief when the door slammed shut behind them. Even though they had gone in and out of the room numerous times, that didn’t mean they were letting their guard down. Far from it, the three of them were even more cautious now than they were before.

Harry sat down in his overstuffed armchair, dropping his bag on the floor. Books spilled everywhere, though he made no move to correct it. He was in a state of euphoria a desperate to find the journal. The clue was just another step towards what he craved, to become closer to his parents.

“So, you tell me you have something to lead us towards the location of this ever elusive journal,” stated Harry, steepling his hands on the ornate wooden desk that suddenly appeared. Ron and Hermione seemed shocked at the change of mood, and he chuckled. “Just kidding. Tell me everything you know.” Hermione nodded, pulling a yellowed piece of parchment out of her bag. Remarkably, it wasn’t crumpled.

“I found this behind a brick yesterday. Yes, don’t look so shocked that I dismantled the castle. It really is a little thing compared to what we are doing.” Harry blinked and leant back in his chair, knee once again jigging. 

“Apparently it is a clue to the location of the journal. It may be a hoax, because ‘Mione here says that she saw the wall glowing or something like that, but a lead is a lead and a lead is good,” said Ron. He ducked as Hermione made to smack him in the back of his head. Scowling, she added,

“It isn’t fake. I know. I have seen that brick before and it was never missing the mortar.” Harry leant forward and Harry took his cue. Grasping the parchment in his hand, he decided to read out loud, rather than in his head. His voice echoed around the room, bouncing off the columns and bookshelves.

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present the first clue to their Marauders Animagus journal.

Well done on finding it. Honestly, if this is ever found, you have to want to follow in our footsteps or have heard the grand tales of our pranks and adventures, must want some of it for yourselves. You have to be worthy to even find this, let alone read it. 

That sounds all high and mighty. But we weren’t just going to let our journal be found without a challenge. Be prepared for the hunt of your lives. Below is the first clue. Good luck on your quest, fellow prankster(s).

Your clue, vague as it may be, is: Relations.

Harry finished reading it and groaned. How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to find a journal based off of a single word clue? Harry reread it to make sure he hadn’t missed a clue that may have been hissed in the writing. A single tear trickled down his face at seeing his father’s handwriting. He didn’t know how he knew it belonged to James. It was more of a gut feeling, and Harry had learnt that his gut was usually right. Relations. It was such an obscure word that had nothing to do with becoming an Animagus. At least he didn’t think so. 

Looking up. Hermione was busy scribbling ideas down on a piece of parchment and sucking on the end of a quill. How she managed to fill half of the page within thirty seconds Harry had no idea. He smiled. It was just a part of who Hermione was. Ron was deep in though, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth at a slight angle. Both of their eyes were darting around, searching for ideas and clues, anything to find a lead to the journal. All Harry was doing was sitting there, clutching a piece of parchment, slowly and silently crying out of sheer emotion and bemusement. He had no idea how to find the next clue to the journal. 

But he sure was going to find out.

Break.

The next few days found the so called ‘Golden Trio’ deep within the process of figuring out the obscure clue. Hermione was in her zone, going through book after book, questioning the professors about the Marauders and their various escapades. It was the challenge that she’d been waiting for, and by Merlin was she loving it. Ron was stuck in a rut, trying to help but having absolutely no idea how to do so. In the end he tagged along with Hermione and in the process a bit of her fanatic problem solving rubbed off on him.

Harry read and reread the clue, desperately searching for something that would jump out at him and enable him to solve it. So far inspiration hadn’t struck, though he was far from out. In fact, he was just getting started. He was paying attention in class in case a shred of information might be relevant to the puzzled they were trying to solve. To say the professors were surprised was an understatement. Not that they were complaining. Far from it, in fact. 

Harry put the clue down, picked it back up and made his way down to the common room. It was after lessons on a Thursday and Harry was finding solace in the window seat situated in his dormitory. Not many of his roommates came up during the day, so he had it relatively to himself.

Hermione and Ron were bent over a book at a table in the corner. They were muttering over something obscure that Harry really didn’t care to know about unless it was to do with finding the way to the journal. He sat down next to them and put the clue face down on the table so no one could read what it said. Lately people had been peering over shoulders and glancing at him even more, curious about his suddenly studious habits. The Hogwarts rumour mill was at work lately, suggesting that the three of them would be more at home in Ravenclaw than Gryffindor. Ron was affronted, though Harry told him not to worry. Being used to slandering newspaper articles, he had developed a seemingly tough skin.

“Have you found anything?” he asked. They both shook their heads. Harry groaned. It wasn’t that he was impatient, it was just that he wanted to get on with the process. It was two weeks since they had decided to 

do the transformation together. Two weeks was a long time when looking forward to something. .

“No, but we have a feeling that we are getting close,” supplied Ron. Harry nodded. Though he hadn’t mentioned it to them, he was starting to get a tingly feeling in his stomach that he had come to associate with success.

“That is good.”

“Very good?” asked Ron.

“Very, very good.” Harry replied with an astute nod.

“Harry, I know this must be hard for you. I mean, all you want is a better relationship with your parents. To get closer How hard can it be to find a damn journal?” said Hermione, frustration evident in her voice. Ron looked at her incredulously, because woe does Hermione swear, though Harry was struck by a sudden epiphany. I mean, all you want is a better relationship with your parents. He paused, knee jigging. Relationship. His eyes widened. Relations. 

Harry understood now. He was the clue. He had to do something to reveal the next one. Somehow there was an enchantment that would allow him to see the location of the next clue, or maybe even the journal. There was something that he had to do to find it, though he didn’t know what. Harry reached forward to the parchment to see if it had changed and when he was a mere centimetre away from it, it glowed and he was sucked towards it, much like the diary of Tom Riddle. 

Harry was floating in white light. Slowly the world formed around him, appearing in strokes, much like a painter’s brush. Muffled sounds soon came to life. Harry was standing in front of a portrait of a frumpy looking woman with curlers in her hair. Voices came down the hallway, four of them. Two were very familiar, one made his blood boil and the other he hadn’t heard since the dementor attack in third year.

Walking towards him were none other than the teenage versions of the Marauders, laughing and chatting away. The wands were in their hands and carefree smiles on their faces. James Potter stood in the middles, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin alongside him. Pettigrew was tagging along. Harry pointedly avoided looking at the little traitor, instead focusing on his father. There was an air of scruffiness and freshness about him, hazel eyes shining and a healthy glow on him cheeks. He looked so happy, surrounded by friends who would do anything for him. Sirius and Remus, that is. 

Again, a tear made its way down Harry’s cheek. It was a happy one though. Happy at seeing his father happy, rather that yelling for his mother to run.

“Hey, Prongs, what do you want to show us?” laughed Sirius. James smirked and stopped walking, turning around rather theatrically. He dusted off an imaginary suit and held a nonexistent hat under his arm.

“Marauder’s, you won’t believe your eyes when I show you what I have to show you. I give you, the new and improved, Marauder headquarters.” He gestured grandly behind him. The other three stood there, puzzled looks on their faces. James chuckled and walked up to the portrait of the frumpy woman. He put and finger on the corner of the frame and pressed one of the intricate gold vines in. The lady in the painting 

smiled and swung forwards, revealing a corridor much like the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

“You didn’t think I would leave you all high and dry, did you fellas?” chuckled James. Harry ate up the scene. A rushing noise filled his ears and Harry was sucked upwards. He rocketed towards a white light and went straight through it, ending up where he was sitting before the vision.

“-arry, are you alright?” asked a concerned Hermione. Both her and Ron were staring at him like something had happened. 

“I am better than alright!” he squealed. Not something he would usually do, but it felt like the appropriate time for squealing. Before they could reply, Harry snatched up the parchment and ran across the common room towards the door. The robes became tangled around his ankles and Harry tripped over. Not even minding the laughter in the slightest, he picked himself up and ran out of the common room in search of the portrait.

Break

Assuming that it was some where near Gryffindor tower was a great decision, Harry decided. Rather than combing the entire castle for days looking for one portrait, Harry reduced the search area to near Gryffindor. He knew that the Marauders were staunch Gryffindors and wouldn’t want a den for the themselves anywhere else.

The deductions had helped, because right in front of him was the very same portrait of a frumpy looking woman. Ron and Hermione still hadn’t caught up with him, so Harry read the parchment while he was waiting, amid a sea of odd looking portraits.

That happened quicker than expected. Seriously, that was meant to take months, not a couple of days. I mean, how were you able to figure out the clue and gain the trust of one of our relations that quickly? Unless the person trying to figure this out is one of our relations. Well, whoever you are, well done.

If you are wondering, the parchment had a series of enchantments on it, similar to the Map, assuming you know what that it. Once you have figured out the clue you need one of our family, someone you trust, to touch it. They well then get the vision we set. Yeah. 

Until next time,

The Marauders

 

There was a panting behind Harry as a very bemused Ron and Hermione caught up with him. They were bent over double, sweat dripping down their foreheads. Harry must have found it quicker than he thought. He wasn’t complaining though. He was even closer to finding out how to become an Animagus.

“What the heck,” panted Ron, “was that about, Harry? One minute you sit down, the next you are a statue, then you come back to life and run off into the corridors looking a painting, squealing like an absolute ninny! I don’t know what had gotten into you!” Ron flopped down and leant against the wall.

“Well, I may have figured the clue out, had a vision about where the journal is and then gone to find it. And may I present to you, the headquarters of the Marauders?” It was more a question than a grand unveiling. Harry didn’t care though. Elation was pumping through his veins, anticipation and excitement, a whole 

myriad of emotions he didn’t even care to name. This was what he’d been waiting for. This very moment.

“Harry, I don’t know what is going on, or what is happening. This isn’t normal!” admonished Hermione, clearly not believing him. Harry shrugged his shoulders and bent down, pressing the vine in that he remembered from the vision. A metallic click echoed through the hallway and the lady in the portrait smiled at them, just she had at James, and opened. The corridor lay behind, lit up by hovering balls of red a gold light. Very Gryffindorish, Harry deduced. The memory of his father standing before this corridor came back to him, as did the smile he already wore. 

“When is anything normal in this world, Hermione?” he replied to her gasp of astonishment. He heard Ron leap up, shoes tapping on the stone floor. “Quickly, before someone sees.” They hurried into the corridor and the portrait closed behind them with a thud. It didn’t get any darker though. 

Looking around, Harry saw that the walls were decorated with Gryffindor banners. He nodded his approval, though his legs were getting weak. He finally had something more to connect him with his parents, the Marauders, the past. Ron, unable to wait, rushed forward and Harry heard a faint exclamation of amazement. Hermione came to his aide and held him up, though it wasn’t enough. Harry slithered down to the floor and broke down, all of his hope and dreams of becoming closer to his parents becoming a reality that he couldn’t deny. It finally wasn’t a taunting dream that was just out of reach, just around the corner, at the top of a smooth wooden pole.

Harry heard Ron coming back, his footsteps heavy and fast. Hermione sat down next to him,putting an arm around his shoulders. For the umpteenth time in two weeks, tears were streaming down his face. Harry unable to control his emotions, leant into Hermione’s embrace. 

Ron arrived in front of them. Harry looked up and felt his heart stop. 

In Ron’s hands was a small, leather bound journal with four animal prints on the front, loopy writing under it marking it as the Animagus Journal he so dearly wanted.


	4. Meetings

Harry’s eyes widened, in hope, in fear and in desperation that it was the prize they had been searching for. That is wasn’t anything else, like a decoy set the put them on another path. Or that there wasn’t even a journal and it was all one great prank. It wouldn’t surprise him. The Marauders were known for their pranks, surely this would be one as well?

Harry shook his head. He knew there was a journal. Sirius wouldn’t have mentioned it in his letter if there wasn’t one. Harry trusted Sirius with his life and didn’t count on him to lie to him at all. The few people that Harry trusted, he gave his complete and utter trust to. There was no hesitation when telling them something. If they said they were going to do something, Harry believed them with no thoughts over whether they were going to do it or not. It was this sort of trust that made his friendship to solidified and precious. This sort of devotion to his precious few true friends that made him a wonderful person to be around. There was doubt sometimes, about little movements or actions made by them, little things they said that he interpreted to be cracks in the wall of their friendship. Harry always quickly dismissed these rogue thoughts though. He knew he was reading into the meaning too much. 

Harry felt a nudge on his shoulder in the form of Hermione’s hand. He turned to her and saw a small smile on her lips. “Go on, Harry,” she said softly, giving him a slight push forward. Slowly, Harry picked himself up off the floor, legs quivering, not sure if he was dreaming or if it was a joyous reality. For every bad moment he had in his life, every tragedy, Ron and Hermione made up for it with little things every day. They made him smile more than anyone else in the world.

Wiping the salty tears off his face, Harry reached out in trepidation, anticipation, fear that the journal would disappear from Ron’s outstretched hands. His right hand brushed the faded, creased leather, fingers clearing several paths through the dust.

“It’s real,” Harry breathed, barely audible. Just in front of him was a link to his father, Sirius and Remus. Something they were going to do to become even closer. It was what Harry had been yearning for years, that missing link, the closest he could be to them without being dead himself. Harry could imagine the future. Him and Sirius running around in their forms, completely free from the world’s expectations, just them. No world weighing on their shoulders, no expectations to do something that Harry had no idea how to do. Just pure, utter freedom, no waiting, just running and having fun.

“Of course it is, mate,” chuckled Ron, pushing the journal into Harry’s shaking hands. He could tell that Harry emotions were running amok from the way that he was just standing there, fingers resting on the top of the black journal. It wasn’t very hard to find. When he walked into the shabby, dusty room, there was a table in the middle with parchment scattered all over it. In the middle of it, elevated slightly on a pile of other journals marked Pranks for Future, was the journal.

Looking up at Ron, Harry nodded, wrapping trembling fingers around the book. Stars were dancing around in his head, shining in his eyes and making him giddy with excitement. This was the feeling he was waiting for. The excitement of forming that link he so yearned for, the elation of doing something no one else was doing.

“Let’s go into the den and read it, shall we?” Hermione suggested, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “We can’t read it out here, can we? Not in the corridor where there are no seats.” Harry was clutching the journal like it was a lifeline, though he managed to rip his eyes away from it for a second to reply to Hermione.

“Yes, let’s go and do that. I wonder what it looks like in there?” Harry trailed off. Though he didn’t look it, Hermione could tell that he was extremely excited about going into the room. To be honest, she was as well. 

It had been a while since she had looked forward to something with this much anticipation. Usually, she wasn’t one for finding secret rooms hidden behind portraits of frumpy looking women. Strangely, it was like a virus had made itself into her system. A virus made of mischief and wanting to do the Animagus transformation illegally. 

Harry made his way forward, legs moving at a pace previously unknown to him. The journal was held to his chest with both hands. In his desperate run, Harry pitched forward and stumbled, nearly falling over onto the stone floor and losing the journal. Luckily, he didn’t and soon came up on a mahogany door painted with wonky striped of red and gold, three animal prints and a handprint pressed into it while it was still wet. Harry’s eyes were drawn to the only hoofprint of the group. It was quite large. He put his hand up against it and could see James, well a stag version of James, putting his hoofprint on the door.

Ron and Hermione caught up behind him. Nodding to himself, Harry pushed the door open and had to close his eyes from the sudden glare of red and gold. He heard Ron chuckle behind him.

“It’s quite bright, isn’t it, mate?” he asked.

“You think, Ron?” replied Harry, shaking his head. Sometimes, Ron had a habit of stating the blatantly obvious. Harry opened his eyes an infinitesimal amount, squinting. Slowly, adjusting to the shock of colours, Harry looked in and felt them widen.

Before him was quite honestly the brightest room Harry had ever seen. A room that McGonagall would be delighted to see. It was practically dripping with Gryffindor banners, posters, shirts, there was even a Gryffindor lion dangling from the ceiling with a silver and green snake hanging from its jaws. A rather unstable and messy paint job had been done on the walls, vertical stripes similar to the ones on the door. A large table with four chairs around it sat in the middle, covered in journals and parchment. Two huge bookshelves holding the records of the pranks they had pulled from years one through seven.

Harry stumbled forward in a daze, spinning around to try and take in everything there was to see. It was like being in Diagon Alley again, only with a more personal connection. He dearly wanted eight pairs of eyes to look in as many directions as possible. His jaw hung slack, eyes wide. This was the quintessential Gryffindor room, made by people who had so much house pride it bled out into their secret room. More like splattered out into it, Harry thought.

“I love it,” Harry breathed, making his way over to a chair with a pair of crudely fashioned wooden antlers stuck to the back. This was presumably James’ seat. Harry sat and placed the journal down on the table, carefully clearing a space. He looked up to see a grinning Ron and a wary Hermione.

“I’m sure it will grow on me,” muttered Hermione. It was quite obvious she didn’t like quite this much red and gold in one space the same size as their dorm. Sure, it was bright and a tad overdone, though Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It better. This is bloody brilliant!” crowed Ron, collapsing into a chair with a pair of floppy fabric ears stuck to it. “I mean, how could you want more? This is the best room I have ever seen. Imagine Malfoy coming in here. Surely he would burn from the shame of seeing a room like this!” Harry sniggered at Ron’s passionate speech. He was also imagining a certain Slytherin professor walking into this room and running away, horrified. What this room would do to the dungeon bat was amusing to think about.

“Well, I think we should open the book. We’ve spent weeks looking for it. May as well enjoy the spoils of the hunt,” said Hermione, sitting down in a chair with a moon stuck to it. She put her bag down on the ground and pulled a single, stained tome out of it. Harry raised an eyebrow. “Just in case I need it. Oh, alright, I’ll put it away.” Huffing, Hermione placed the ‘extra reading’ back in her already overflowing bag.

Harry hands began trembling again as he reached for the cover. Weeks of anticipation had been leading up to this very moment. Inwardly, Harry chuckled. He was using the word anticipation a little too much lately. It seemed his dictionary had gone awol. His fingers brushed the surface, and not wanting to delay any longer, Harry opened the book.

He was greeted with a fountain of confetti shooting out of the front page and sticking onto his face. Harry blinked twice in shock and confusion before realing that Ron was roaring with laughter and Hermione was trying to keep her giggles under control to no avail. Harry supposed that it was rather amusing to open a journal and to be met with a faceful of rainbow confetti rather that the table of contents. Harry wiped the confetti off his face and looked down at the page.

Well done on finding this. We wanted to congratulate you with a surprise, so what better thing to use than confetti?

Harry smiled and turned the page, flicking rogue pieces of confetti off the pages.

“What does it say?” asked Ron, leaning forwards to try and get a glimpse of the rather small words on the page. Harry had to squint as it was. How on Earth was someone supposed to read something that ridiculously small? It was beyond Harry, who held the journal right up to his face, so close his nose was touching the table of contents. He was a bit surprised that there was a table of contents. Knowing that Marauders, and from how they found the Den in state of complete disarray, he actually wouldn’t have expected them to have a table of contents. More like a jumbled collection of notes on what and what not to do.

The book was snatched from his hands by Hermione, who waved her wand over it while muttering some words. When she gave it back to Harry, the words were actually a normal size, a readable font. Harry looked at her and she shrugged.

“Magnification Charm. Come on, Harry, read it! We’re dying from waiting.” Harry nodded, turning the page and began to read.

Consideration on Whether to Use the Spell or Potion: Chapter One

As we have found out from the multitudes of research we have done, there are two ways of performing the Animagus Transformation. The first is a potion, which takes two months of constant attention and brewing. The second is a spell that we had to do a heck of a lot of digging to find. It was all ‘Potion this, potion that.’ We wanted an alternative, and we found one. The downside to the spell is that you can only perform it once. And when you do, it has to be perfect. No second chances. The book was very clear on that.

With the potion, you have as many chances as you need. If you don’t do it correctly, it will pass through your system and leave only the memory of what your Animagus form is. The problem is the constant attention needed. We need to help Moony as soon as we can, and we can’t do that with us needing to keep an eye on the potion. There is also the problem of Snivellus loving potion making. Anything to not look like him.

They read through the rest of the chapter which went on to list more pros and cons of the spell and potion. Harry thought it was a rather one sided battle. The entire chapter leant towards the spell, even though there was the huge risk of there only being one chance. One chance to do it, one chance to get it right, one chance or everything goes terrible wrong. Despite the risks, though, Harry could see why they were leaning towards it. The process was easier and it only took a week, rather than two months. It was also listed that the spell was more feeling based than accuracy based. You had to feel the animal within you, rather than hoping for a specific one. Granted, you had to say it absolutely perfectly otherwise everything would go to pot, though you wouldn’t know it until the transformation.

Considering how bad Harry was at potion making, Harry was heavily leaning towards the spell. The list of ingredients for the potion was endless. It made the Polyjuice Potion look like beginners territory. Even though there was only one chance, Harry could already feel that the spell was the way to go. Glancing up, Ron and Hermione seemed to be lost in their own internal debates over whether they should use the spell or potion. Even without turning the page to see what the Marauders had decided to use, Harry knew that it was the spell they were going to pick.

Excitement was starting to writhe in his belly. This was what he was waiting for. To be so close to becoming closer to the Marauders, to his parents. The rush of doing something that wasn’t allowed, the anticipation (there was that word again!) of doing something that hadn’t been done in years. Harry didn’t mind doing it behind the Minister’s back. He had a pronounced grudge against the incompetency of the Ministry. They were utterly useless. In a way, this was his clapping back at them.

“What do you think, Harry?” asked Hermione. “I am leaning towards the spell. The points that they brought up were very valid ones about how it was quicker and more efficient, not to mention easier. I mean, we did make that potion in second year, but that was actually very stressful. I remember that being the first time I wanted to break the rules to find something out. But it was very complicated, not to mention someone could have easily found out what we were doing.”

Ron nodded. “I agree with those points. The potion is quite appealing in the fact that we have as many chances as we need to get it right, but have you thought about getting the ingredients?” Harry blanched. To get the ingredients they would either have to owl order them in, which would the one of the most expensive endeavours he had ever done, or steal them from Snape’s cupboard. “If Snape catches us nicking stuff from his stores, he won’t be pulling any punches. He already suspects us from second and fourth year, better to not aggravate him in the slightest. I have no idea what the greasy git would pull. To be honest, I don’t want to know.” 

Harry whipped his head around as he thought he heard desperately quietened laughter permeating from the walls. Even for Hogwarts, hearing voices was not normal. Harry knew it wasn’t the basilisk or any snake again. Snakes just didn’t make that noise with their mouth. It was more of a strangled hissing noise that the snakes made. No, the noise was definitely human, though where it had come from, Harry had no idea.

Rolling his eyes, Harry came to the conclusion that he was hearing things. That his tired mind was driving him absolutely loopy. It had happened before when he was exhausted. Not that Harry could actually feel the exhaustion with the adrenalin still running through him. Slightly waning, but still running amok, making him more excited than he’d been in a while.

“So, are we decided on the spell, then?” he asked, steepling his fingers. Harry rested his hands on them and then put them back on the table, finding the position mildly uncomfortable. Hermione looked a bit anxious, though.

“Maybe we should wait for a few more days before we make our decision? We may want to change our minds, you never know,” added Hermione gently. The last thing she wanted to do was bring Harry down from the adrenaline high he was on. It simply wouldn’t do. It had been so long since she’d seen Harry genuinely happy as he was now. She just thought that they should put more consideration into what method they used. From what she knew, the process of becoming an Animagus was a delicate one, that required much precision. To mess up with the spell would be catastrophic, though to brew the potion again would be a major hassle in their lives.

“Really, Hermione?” Ron asked incredulously, tapping his fingers on the table in an agitated way. “Better to decide now and stick with it, because if we don’t you will be flitting in between the two like a cornish pixie.” Hermione scowled at the comparison, while Harry snickered behind his hands.

“I assure you, Ronald, I am not like a cornish pixie at all. I prefer to not compare myself to anyone or anything, because I am my own person. I will make my own way in the world,” snapped Hermione, crossing her arms.

“That much is for sure,” grumbled Ron. Hermione’s head snapped up and she glared daggers at Ron. Harry felt that this was the time to step in, before this turned into another Yule Ball.

“Guys, can we just decide now? I understand your hesitancy to decide so quickly, Hermione, but I would rather do this now. Honestly, think about it. What appeal is there in the potion other than the fact that we can do it as many times as we need? It is a hassle to make and even though Snape’s store is chock-a-block with the ingredients we need, imagine how difficult it would be to steal all of them over and over, if we don’t make it correctly. I say, all in favour of the spell, raise your hands.” Harry raised his own hand, along with Ron. Hermione glanced between the two before grabbing the book and speed reading over the points made. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she raised her hand as well.

“We’re decided then. Right, now all there is to do is discover the spell, practice it in our heads, perform it, walk around for a week with animal parts and hope to Merlin that it all goes right,” concluded Harry amicably, turning the page. 

“That really is a simplified way of putting it, Harry,” said Hermione. “It really is a lot more complicated than that. We shouldn’t be simplifying this. We need to understand everything about it there is to know about it and everything that could go wrong.” Harry though she looked rather flustered, as if she just realised what they were doing. It was quite amusing to watch as the emotions cycled through her eyes.

“I don’t see the need to complicate this,” Harry said. Ron watched on, a smirk tugging at his face. “The way I see it, if we don’t over complicate it, we will be able to do it without a huge amount of stress. Keep it simple, you know?” He didn’t have time to listen to her reply or Ron’s teasing comments.

A whisper came from the corner of the room again, from the same place where the sniggering had come from. Harry abruptly stood up and marched over to the corner, sticking his ear to it. The whispering suddenly stopped with an equally hushed shushing noise, as if there were people behind the wall, or there was another hidden room. Getting a sudden hunch, Harry felt around the banner and then pulled it back with a dramatic flourish, expecting to see the hidden door behind it.

There was none.

Groaning, Harry returned to the table with heated cheeks. So much for finding the mysterious voices. Great, Harry though, I really am going crazy this time. Not to mention he was embarrassing himself in front of Ron and Hermione. Not that that particular phenomenon was new. He didn’t mind. They both had their fair share of embarrassing moments, like a few days ago when Hermione fell asleep in her porridge from studying too late. That really was rather hilarious.

“What was that?” asked Ron. Harry shook his head, grinning now that he saw the humour in it.

“Just a hunch. I though I hear whispering, but there was nothing. Never hurts to check though, right?”

“Harry, Mad-eye Moody must really be rubbing off on you. I’ve never seen you so paranoid,” chuckled Hermione. “Next thing you know, we’ll be a few hundred years in the future. Now that would be something to laugh at.”

“Guys, can we get back to the spell please?” pleaded Ron, jumping in his seat. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see Ron bouncing in his seat. It happened most often when he was talking about the Chudley Cannons, his Quidditch team.

“I still think we should wait,” muttered Hermione, sore at being out logicked by Harry and Ron, who weren’t exactly known for their logical prowess. “Alright, calm down, don’t glare at me like that.”

“What’s the spell, Harry?” Harry looked down at the page and was immediately drawn to the words up the top of the page, written in a scrawl different to the rest of the book. He knew it wasn’t Remus’ writing, who had written this book, which he knew from all the homework that Remus’ had graded. And it wasn’t Sirius’, Harry would recognise it from the letters sent to him. He had reason to believe it was his father's handwriting. He would believe it. It was certainly better than Pettigrew’s handwriting. Harry spat the name out in his head, unable to say it out loud. Going away from the dirtied thought of Pettigrew, Harry smiled at the thought of Prongs writing this down, holding the book the exact same way he was at the moment.

“Mutato in Animalis,” Harry read. He jumped when his wand emitted crackling bluish sparks despite it being on the table and nowhere near his hand. Harry gulped. “Maybe we shouldn't say it until we’re actually performing the spell. I think that would be a good idea.” Ron and Hermione nodded along with him.

“One question, actually,” said Hermione. “Do we perform the spell ourselves or get someone else to do it?” Harry stopped for a minute. That actually was a very relevant question for what they were going to do. He handed the book over to Hermione who turned the pages, rapidly reading Remus’ neat writing. Harry picked at a piece of splitting wood while waiting for the answer.

“We can actually do it either way,” Harry jumped at the sudden, rapid speech of Hermione, “though doing it on yourself is recommended, lest you want some of the other person’s form to bleed through into yours. Oh, imagine!” As she cackled away, laughing at something only she could see, Harry turned to Ron, who still looked relatively amused with the proceedings.

“So, what do you think we’re going to be?” he asked, running his hand through his hair. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a flash of black move through one of the banners behind him, though dismissed it as him seeing things.

“Dunno. Why don’t we deliberate on Hermione first?” That sobered Hermione up, who sat up straight. 

“Well, what do you think I’m going to be? I have a rather clear idea of something that flies, perhaps a clever bird, either that or something that is related to my Patronus. Even though I don’t know what it is yet.” She was very decisive on what she thought her form was going to be. Harry kind of admired her for that. He practically had a zoo in his head there were so many animals, so many possibilities, running around in it. A beaver here (no thank you!), a tiger there (perhaps), a strange hybrid of a duck and otter with a rather rectangle tail that he had no idea where it came from.

“No, I think that you will definitely be a hyena with that cackle,” said Ron. A book was soon thrown at his head, hitting home in the centre of his forehead. “Alright, I get it, you don’t think you’ll be a hyena, calm down. I was just joking.” He rubbed his forehead and turned to Harry. “What do you think she will be?”

Harry was going to give a comedic answer, but her glare shut down that idea. He certainly didn’t want a lump on his already marred forehead like Ron was guaranteed to get. She didn’t look it, but Hermione had deadly accurate aim. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that arm, so he gave an honest answer. “I’m not really sure, though I think maybe an intelligent animal, like a dolphin?” When he finished the sentence, Harry realised how silly it sounded. “Okay, maybe not a dolphin. Wouldn’t be much help on land, would it? I’m sure whatever you get will be just wonderful, right?”

Hermione affirmed that with a jerk of her head. Ron leaned forward, an eager look on his features.

“Alright, my turn. I think, because I have so much house pride and hate Slytherins, I will obviously be a magnificent lion. What more could I be?” he said, grinning. Harry facepalmed. Of course, of course, Ron 

would pick a lion for what he thought he would be. Obviously nothing else would be good enough for the mighty Ron Weasley, Gryffindor through and through.

Hermione sniffed. “No, no. Certainly not. Your spirit and aura are coming across in waves, my superior inner eye,” Harry and Ron snickered at the blatant rip off of Trelawney, “sees that you will be nothing more than a pink, fluffy bunny with purple spots.” Ron’s jaw dropped, a gormless look on his face. He hadn’t been expecting that, at all.

“Don’t forget the little, fluffy hearts, Ron. Oh, I’m sure you would be the cutest little bunny, everyone would want to give you itty-bitty hugs!” added Harry, keeping his laughter at bay. Ron began to look affronted, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, Harry!” snickered Hermione. “You forgot the easter eggs and big, blue eyes, the sparkles and pink fairy wings. I’m sure Ron would love to be a pink flying bunny any day. Right Ron?” Said Gryffindor was doing a decent impression of a tomato, though his body was wracked with tremors that Harry assumed was suppressed laughter. He was correct. Ron burst out laughing.

“Okay, you guys bloody well got me there. Still, a lion would be very cool, you’ve got to admit. Now, Harry, what do you think you’re going to be?” Harry’s eyes widened. This was not going to be good. He didn’t know what Ron or Hermione would pick for him. Probably something completely opposite to his personality. Either that or something completely laughable.

“I’m not really sure. There is this thing, I have no idea what it is, running around in my head, and it looks really weird.” At Hermione’s insistence, he described it. “It’s kind of like a cross between a duck, an otter and a rectangular biscuit. It has webbed feet. I know I’ve seen it somewhere.” 

“Harry, I know what it is,” said Hermione. 

“Well, go on,” 

“A platypus.”

“What in Merlin’s name is that?”

“Something far too great for Harry Potter to have as an Animagus form. I was thinking more along the lines of a pink pony.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“No, I think it’s perfect,” replied Hermione. She had to admit, it was quite fun just teasing each other in the midst of doing something completely illegal, not to mention dangerous.

Harry suddenly felt his neck hairs stand up, like he was being watched. It was a vaguely unsettling feeling. His instincts had taught him that to ignore something like this could often end in a complete catastrophe, so Harry stood up and turned around. Behind him there was yet another Gryffindor banner, framed. Looking closer, Harry discovered that it was actually a very detailed oil painting of one, that blowing slightly in the a non existent wind. A painting. No, it can’t be. People can’t be watching us from the painting, can they?

“I think this castle is haunted,” he announced suddenly. Ron and Hermione grinned, thinking the exact same thing.

“Harry, the castle is already haunted. In case you haven’t noticed, there are several ghosts, as well as a certain poltergeist,” explained Hermione.

“Let me rephrase that. I think there is a person watching from the paintings. I’ve been hearing laughter, 

whispers and I saw a flash of black in this frame. I think it may have been a person running away before we saw them.”

“Are you sure that it wasn’t a pink pony wearing a cloak?” asked Ron, coming in front of Harry and waggling his eyebrows mischievously. “I’m pretty sure you’re just getting signs that you’re going to be a pink pony with candyfloss for a main and poop out rainbows.”

“Guys, try to be serious. I’m not joking. I think that someone may have been eavesdropping on our entire conversation.” Harry tried in vain to convince them that he wasn’t seeing things, that he was being serious. This was interrupted by Hermione.

“Don’t you mean Sirius, Harry? Try to be Sirius?” she giggled behind her hand. Harry sighed, though groaned when this time he heard uproarious laughter at Hermione’s ‘witty’ comment. It was a joke they’d picked up while cooped up in Grimmauld Place. Remus and Sirius often played around with it, and Harry marveled at how they didn’t get sick of it after a few days. He suspected it stemmed from their days at Hogwarts. Now, hearing the laughter, they couldn’t deny that they were being watched.

“Looks security is down and this room isn’t as secure as we would like, Harry,” said Ron, now feigning fully believing Harry. “The pink pony must be able to speak laugh.” While Harry glowered at him, Ron began prancing around the room in what Harry supposed was supposed to be an impression of a ‘pink pony.’ It didn’t look like a pony in the slightest, though it was amusing to watch Ron make an utter fool of himself.

In his erratic prancing, Ron managed to get his foot stuck in a rogue cauldron. He fell over backwards, taking the cauldron with him. While he was falling, Harry heard a clicking noise. Ron fell towards the banner where Harry checked for a hidden doorway before. He frantically reached out before Ron hit the wall and hurt himself. Ron hit the banner, but disappeared with a startled yelp as he fell through the wall. Harry’s eyes widened as he heard a group of people yell out in surprise, two of the voices sounding painfully familiar. Harry supposed that the clicking noise had revealed a hidden door that wasn’t there before.

Harry rushed forward, Hermione close behind to check if Ron was alright. All the mirth of the moment disappeared as they rushed forward to help him, though some of it reappeared when they found out that Ron was tangled in the rather large banner. Hermione giggled, saying it looked like people would wear at New York Fashion Week, which made Harry chuckle. He’d seen some of the outfits once and they were pretty ridiculous at times.

Ron stood up and swiveled around, dramatically swishing the banner. “Okay, Harry, I think you may have been right about the secret room and people watching from the paintings hunch.” Harry walked further into the room, a smirk evident on his face. 

Until he saw the large, framed painting on the wall. Until he saw the people in it. Four teenagers, two with black hair, two with brown, one with round glasses and one with scars tracking over his weary face, all standing in a very familiar messy dormitory. All were grinning at the gormless expression on Harry’s face. What they couldn’t see or hear were the chaotic thoughts on the inside of Harry’s head.

Harry felt his limbs freeze up. Before him was the person he’d always yearned to talk to, to hug, to hear more of than him running for his mother to run. He was feeling longing, but a hidden kind of fear as well. What if James didn’t accept him? What if everything went wrong and they resented each other? His thoughts were interrupted by a much happier and younger sounding Sirius.

“Woah, James, I didn’t know you could time travel.” Harry looked up and locked eyes with his father, overcoming his fears. James’ eyes were a soft hazel colour, with speck of darker brown sprinkled through 

them. They danced with a sparking intensity Harry had only seen in Fred and George’s eyes. James looked just as shocked to see Harry, who was not a time traveling version of himself.

“That’s not me, Sirius,” he whispered, evidently shocked. Sirius looked incredulous, then glanced at Harry. Understanding dawned on his face.

“Yeah, he’s too much of a midget to be you. Is he your secret brother? Hey, girl, nice joke by the way. Obviously, you have met the fabulousness that is me. Sirius Black at your service.” The other members of the painting laughed uproariously at his self-absorbed introduction and then turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione. 

“I assure you I am not James’ secret brother,” said Harry. He desperately wanted to call James ‘Dad’ but wasn’t sure how he would react to that. Being called his secret brother did sting a little bit, but he supposed that they didn’t know any better. Now that Harry was here, he wished that there was a painting of his mother, Lily, so he could talk to her as well. It wasn’t that he was being selfish, no, just that he wanted to talk to both of his parents for once. Was it too much to ask? Apparently for this world yes. If it wasn’t for that murdering bastard Voldemort he would have a family to call his own. It was all he wanted. Even if he was able to talk to the teenage versions of his parents who had no idea he even existed, it was exciting, though missing Lily.

“Who are you then, Mr Grumpy Pants?” asked Sirius. James was still staring at his eyes in shock and wonder, obviously recognising the particular shade of green they were. Harry began to examine James’ face, noting the similarities and differences. His nose was slightly shorter than James’; though James’ cheekbones were higher. Harry’s hair was slightly shorter than James; James was a whole lot taller than Harry, though you couldn’t really judge the height of someone from a painting.

“Are you alright?” asked Remus, who was sitting down with a book in his lap. Harry smiled softly; it reminded him of Hermione. Harry nodded, replying:

“I’m just a little bit shocked, is all.” That was bit of an understatement, though they had no need to know that. “Uh, hi, I’m Harry.” James gaped.

“Are you my-my s-son?” he stammered, wringing his hands. Sirius looked at James and looked like he was going to burst out laughing. He didn’t though, when he saw the look on James’ face. It was a hopeful yet withdrawn look, a bit of bemusement chucked in there for good measure. Harry felt a smile spread over his face. He hadn’t expected to be able to tell him this soon, it made him very happy.

“Yes, I am. Harry Potter at your service,” he said proudly, snapping into a mocking salute. The Marauders burst into peals of laughter, except a certain rat in the back, who Harry was determined to ignore, lest he go absolutely berserk on him. Harry remembered reading about an old berserker tride in the times of the vikings who went quite mad when battling and arguing. Harry compared their anger to his resentment and hate of Peter ‘Wormtail’ Pettigrew, the filty little rat. He really didn’t want to turn into a raging viking. Mentally at least. He certainly didn’t look the part at all.

“Well, Harry, welcome to the Marauder’s Den secret room. It’s a secret room inside of a secret room. Brilliant, right? We though no one would ever find it. The we heard you guys,” explained Sirius, running his hand through his hair. Harry and James mimicked the action, though didn’t understand why the other members of the group snickered. “I bet that you are some of the best pranksters this school has ever seen. Save us of course.” Harry chuckled.

“No, I think Fred and George Weasley beat us out on that count. Oh, by the way, these are my best friends, Ron and--”

“Hermione, who is perfectly capable of introducing herself, thank you very much, Harry,” interrupted Hermione, much to Harry’s chagrin and the Marauder’s amusement. She conjured a chair and sat down, pulling a book out of a bag, the stained tome from earlier, resting it on her lap. The Marauders looked between her and Remus, seemingly making some connection.

“Hermione,” asked Sirius, “is Remus your father?” Hermione nearly choked on the water she was currently drinking. Ron looked aghast and Harry couldn’t see how they made that ridiculous connection. Oh well, he though, I guess it’s a Marauder thing.

“Why would you think for a second that my old defense Professor is my father? My name is Hermione Granger, not Lupin. Not that I have anything against you, Professor,” Hermion added hastily. Remus went from looking petrified to relieved. Harry knew this was because he was scared of having children because he was a werewolf. Remus also looked puzzled at being called Professor when he was only seventeen.

The Marauders, however, were hooting. 

“You really did become a Professor, Moony! Should’ve known, you and your booky habits,” said James. “Congrats, anyway, you’ve probably done more with your life than any of us.” Harry glowered when James said that. Sirius turned to Harry, ignoring the blushing Remus and overdramatic James.

“So, Harry,” he said.

“Yeah?” Harry replied. He really was trying to keep his elation under control. He didn’t want to let it out and become a hyper blur of confustion for the Marauders, running around the room. He was finally seeing them, and surprised he wasn’t a blubbering mess. He’d had enough of being reduced to a puddle of tears at the smallest things, and certainly didn’t want to break down in front of the Marauders.

“Tell us about some of the pranks you’ve pulled. I’m sure this is going to be great.” Sirius sat down as Harry froze, trying to remember some of the pranks they’d pulled, if they’d actually pulled any. “Come on, I’m sure you’ve pulled a prank or two? You’ve got to, right?” Harry was wringing his hands as he replied.

“Well, there is the small issue that we may not have pulled any pranks?” Harry finished and looked up at the horrified faces of the Marauders. 

“What do you mean, ‘We may not have pulled any pranks?” asked James. “Sure your old man, me, would have encouraged you to pull some, break our detention record, make an alliance with Peeves?” When James mentioned his older self, Harry felt his knees buckle out from under him. He landed heavily on the floor and Hermione rushed over to help him to his feet, though his legs weren’t working, sending him back down to the ground. Hermione stayed down with him on the floor, enveloping him in a warm hug. Harry never had the chance to have a father telling him to pull pranks, or a mother wanting him to be the best he could be work wise. He never wanted anything more than to have a father, a mother, a family.

Harry could feel the tears pricking his eyes. Great. Now he was going to turn into a big sloppy mess and they would wonder what the heck was going on with him. He could see that in their eyes, any son of a Marauder should be the typical Gryffindor, brave, a prankster, someone who doesn’t break down at the slightest indication of pressure. He hated to think what his the Marauders were thinking right now.

Ron, with one singular glance at Harry and what James’ words caused him to feel, felt rage filter into his veins. He marched up to the painting, mutiny on his face. The Marauders were glancing between Harry and Ron, except Remus, who decided to stay out of the whole situation.

“You want to know why we haven’t had time to pull any bloody pranks?” Ron growled. He didn’t wait for the reply. “You want to know why? It’s because we’ve been too busy with bloody Dark Lord trying to off 

Harry. In first year there was a possessed teacher trying to kill Harry and a cerberus, not to mention the Malfoy brat. Second year people were getting Petrified left and right, we had an idiot defence professor and Harry would have died from a basilisk if it weren’t for a phoenix. Third year we thought there was an escaped Murderer after Harry for the whole year, though in the end it turned out to be Sirius,” Said Marauder’s face was absolutely priceless, with James and Pettigrew edging away from him, “who was actually innocent.” Sirius’ slumped in relief.

“What does this have to do with pranks and Harry breaking down?” asked James in a skeptical voice, though there was an element of concern.

“I’m not done yet,” interrupted Ron. “You need to hear the whole story to understand the gravity of the situation we’re in. So fourth year. Harry gets illegally entered in the Triwizard tournament, I become an absolute git to Harry, though he had admonished me for calling myself that. Harry is forgiving like that, you know? Anyway, on the third task he was abducted by a Death Eater in disguise as our professor, not Remus, don’t worry. He is taken to a graveyard where Voldemort takes his blood, Cedric is killed by a certain rat,” Pettigrew paled here, “and Harry suffers under the Cruciatus and Imperius curses multiple times. This year, Harry has visions about Voldemort and we have a sadistic teacher who makes students write lines in their own blood! 

“So I’m sorry if we don’t have time to pull any of your precious pranks. We’re busy trying to not get killed and have a mildly good time. Fred and George are the ones who practically worship you, go and talk to them.” Ron finished with a glare in their direction before moving over to join Harry and Hermione, who were looking at him with wide and watery eyes. He nodded and joined the group hug on the ground.

“Ron,” Harry whispered, voice choked. He really didn’t care about breaking down in front of the Marauders now. “You didn’t have to do that. Ron softly gazed at Harry.

“Of course I did, Harry. Some people,” he glared at James and Sirius, who were still wide eyes and processing what they just heard, “need to know that there are some things more important than pranks.” Ron turned back to Harry and heard a smack coming from the painting behind them. Glancing up, Remus was standing and James had a glaring red mark on his cheek, which he was rubbing.

Harry was trying to contemplate what just happened. Ron came to his defense like he was the most important person in the world to him. It touched him to no end. And for some reason, he wanted to see James and Sirius put in their place. Their attitude of ‘pranks before all else’ was beginning to bother him, though now he was crying tears at Ron’s defense, not their bias attitude. At least it hadn’t been a panic attack. That would have been terrifying, since only one had happened in his entire life.

“Moony, what was that for?” complained James, still rubbing his cheek.

“Oh I think you know,” hissed Remus, eyes narrowed, glaring daggers. “Next time before you say something, consider the circumstances.”

“Well, Moony, how was Prongs supposed to know that Harry would break down crying?” added Sirius. Remus sighed.

“I guess he wasn’t, but please be careful when you say things.” James nodded and sat down on the stone floor of the painting, hugging his knees to his chest.

“Look, I’m sorry kid. I just assumed if someone was going to find this place they would be prank happy like us, you know? I let my attitude get ahead of me. It was just nice to have someone to talk to after being stuck in this painting for almost fifteen years. Probably more than that, come to think of it.” Harry cocked his head to the side, swiping the tears of his cheek. The robe he was wearing was going to need a good wash from all 

the salty tears in the arm.

“Haven’t you been able to roam around the castle? I thought painting could socialise, slip from one frame to another,” Harry asked. He forgave James. He didn’t know how James was going to know what would set him off.

“We used to be able to. I was rather fun playing pranks on the other paintings,” James sighed, rubbing his head.

“But then,” said Sirius spookily, using his wand as a torch as the lights in the painting dimmed, “ we were planning a prank to play on the local knight. It was all fine and dandy, until we realised the whole thing went wrong when we did it. We, not wanting the shame of doing a prank wrong, tried to obliviate him. It didn’t all go to plan. Now there is an egotistical failure of a knight running around called Sir Cadogan.” Harry sniggered into his palm. “You know him?”

“He replaced the Fat Lady during third year when Sirius tried to break into the Gryffindor tower, yes I’ll tell you later about that. So, he was your doing, was he?” At their frantic nodding, Harry grinned. “Well, he is very annoying, but entertaining.” The Marauders grinned, reminding Harry of the Chesire Cat. Once at the Dursley’s, Alice in Wonderland was on the television. Harry managed to snatch a glance at it before Uncle Vernon bellowed at him to go back to his chores. The image stuck with him, surfacing now.

“Yes. But back to the story. The other paintings, well apparently they didn’t like being pranked. Be reminded, this was when our real life counterparts were still in the school. We talked to each other a lot and gave each other ideas, you know? Anyways, when we released a group of black cornish pixies into the paintings. They obviously didn’t like it and banded together to bind us into this painting. Yeah. That’s the story. It’s dreadfully boring, worse than detention with McGonagall.” James finished with a flourish. Harry nodded. It made sense why there were little things running through paintings and watching them.

“You think that’s bad? Try detention with Snape,” grumbled Ron. James’ eyes widened and Sirius moved to speak, but Remus cut him off.

“So,” he asked, “Why have you sought out us in the first place?” Harry started. He was so caught up in the conversation that he forgot about the Animagus thing.

“We want to become Animagus, to follow in your footsteps,” replied Hermione. James raised an eyebrow and then smiled.

“I assume that you’re doing it behind the Ministry’s back?” he asked her. Hermione huffed, hair shooting up.

“With a lot of convincing, yes.”

“Wait, guys, there is one thing I want to know!” butted in Sirius. Harry nodded him to continue. “Why am I breaking out of Azkaban and into Gryffindor tower?” Harry groaned. This was not something he wanted to face. He couldn’t imagine their reaction when he told them the future, how messed up it was, that one of them was dead, one of them was a death eater, one was locked away in a house he hates and one left alone for thirteen years, not even allowed to see Harry.

Luckily he was saved by Hermione, who cast the tempus charm and realised it was nearly after curfew.

“I am sorry, boys, bu we have to go. We’ve had an exhausting few weeks searching for this place and the journal. We need sleep. I am not falling asleep in my porridge again. Oh, do shut up, Harry, Ron,” she said to their snickering. The Marauders looked disappointed, but bid them farewell, saying that they could come back any time to talk about pranks, idiot teachers and Slytherin’s, the Animagus transformation and pranks.

“We will, I assure you,” said Harry. Suddenly tired, he made a huge yawn, stretching his arms up in the air. “Thank you for a turbulent but wonderful night.” They walked out of the secret room. Ron tripped over the cauldron again, flipping it the other way. The door melded into a wall.

“So that’s how that works,” Ron said. 

They made their way back to the tower, collecting the journal and enchanted parchment on the way. The paintings whispered after them, wondering what was behind the frumpy woman, who just smiled and went to sleep. They made is back to the common room by the time the curfew was in play.

Harry and Ron snuck into the dorm without disturbing the others, and went to be with the thoughts of becoming an Animagus and going back to talk with his father again.

All in all, Harry thought, a very good, topsy-turvy day.


	5. A Very Dreadful Day

Once again, Harry groaned. Yesterday was a blur of running, tears, teenage parents and discoveries. It hurt his head just thinking about all of it. Not to mention the light streaming in through the suspiciously open curtains. Harry put his pillow over his head, the cold side, making him shiver and burrow down under the covers.* Escaping the cold was no easy feat in November. In England. Especially as there was no heating. 

While Harry was lamenting the heating loss, his fuzzy, messy thoughts snapped together. He sat up, conversations and deliberations whirling through his mind. So much had happened yesterday his heart flutter in his chest just thinking about it. Cautiously, he peered above the cover, only to see a flash of red before a wave of ice cold air hit him. Goosebumps erupted all over his skin and he shrunk into a foetal position to retain warmth.

A warm chuckle reached his ears. Ron. Of course. Who else would snatch his warm, quilted duvet away and replace it with castle air? No one. That was the answer. None of his other roommates would even think of getting up and stealing his duvet. Not in the cold England November.

“What was that for, Ron?” Harry mumbled, clinging for dear warmth onto his pillow, hoping to get some more. He didn’t get any, so curled up tighter.

“Good morning to you too, Harry,” said Ron, chucking the duvet back onto the bed. It landed with a thump, making Harry groan. Giving up on the pursuit of warmth, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched forward, grasping his robed between two fingers. Anything to avoid the floor, which would no doubt cause him to remake his bed and ignore the day. Harry wouldn’t mind missing the day. His first class was Defence Against the Dark Arts, with the toad. That was something he could do without. 

Harry loathed Umbridge almost as much as he abhorred Snape. The way the sidled up to Fudge and her utter unquestioning devotion to the Ministry of Magic made him sick. Her tiny mind, wrapped in pink, had no room for consideration of other people’s beliefs. It disgusted Harry how she thought she had the right to torture students, make them write in their own blood, to try and change what they believed in.

Shuddering, Harry slipped his socks and shoes on and jumped onto the floor, shaking his legs to get rid of the early morning tiredness. The other members of the dorm were still fast asleep, both Seamus and Dean snoring. Harry didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before. Probably because he was concentrating on conserving warmth. Scowling at Ron, and chucking a pillow at him, which he sketchily dodged, they made their way down to the common room.

On the way down to breakfast, Harry stuck his head into the library and looked around for Hermione, as she hadn’t turned up in the common room. Sure enough, she was at the table she now frequented after partially dismantling the castle. It was like she didn’t want anyone to find out about what she’d done, though he couldn’t blame her for not wanting her reputation to be ripped to shreds and tatters. His reputation, what people thought of him, was already at an all time low, and he didn’t want it to sink any further. Harry had respect for Hermione and her efforts to conceal the supposed invisible ‘damage’ she’d done to the castle. Honestly, Harry thought that no one would ever notice, but she had a right to be careful. Everybody did.

“What were you doing in there so early in the morning?” asked Ron, as Hermione stowed parchment away in her bag and screwed the lid onto her ink bottle. She glanced up and Ron groaned. He knew that look. She’d discovered some fascinating topic and was researching more into it. Cue the questioning and hampering to do some research with her. Ron would never admit it, but in a way he enjoyed Hermione’s pestering.

“Just looking into something that Professor McGonagall mentioned in passing. It happens when you change the pronunciation of a spell and the effect is the complete opposite to what it is meant to do. I am yet to find the spell, but it is ever so fascinating searching for it.” Harry felt a grin form on his face. There was just something infectious about her blindingly bright enthusiasm. 

“I could help you if you want,” Harry offered, pointedly ignoring Ron, who was gawking at him. “Pick your mouth up off of the floor, Ron, it isn't becoming of a young man of look like a codfish.” It was a mocking impression of Hermione, who did something that Harry never expected from her. She giggled. Since when did Hermione giggle? Apparently when someone playfully mocking her meant that Ron looked affronted and did a decent impression of a tomato trying not to laugh.

“Harry, I wouldn’t say that. People would think you’re turning into me,” giggled Hermione, though her eyebrows were furrowed, as if she thought it was a bad thing that people should think Harry was picking up her characteristics. Harry stopped walking down the hall, freezing completely. Angry thoughts swirled around in his head. 

What would make Hermione think it was a bad thing that he was liking studying slightly more? When you actually delved deeper into a subject it was a fascinating venture. This was something that the rest of Hogwarts didn’t seem to be privy to, including Ron, though he was slowly coming around. Just the fact that Hermione should be looking troubled that she had a good influence on her was making his ears ring with anger. What was going on that he didn’t know? Was she getting teased again? So badly that she was worried about her influence? Who was doing this. Whoever it was, Harry was going to find them and make sure that they never―

“Harry, what are you doing?” asked Ron, shaking his frozen friends shoulder. Harry’s head snapped up, glasses going slightly crooked. He shook he head and straightened them, warring over whether to say the truth about his concerns or stay back and see if anything more happened.

As it turned out, he had no time to answer, as Hermione cut in. “Harry, no, I am not getting teased or bullied. I would tell you. All that is worrying me is that the cap to my ink was slightly crooked.” 

Harry deflated and felt a small chuckle in his chest. Of course he would be the one to obsess over the smallest thing and be very protective of his friends. He was the Golden Boy, the perfect, quintessential Gryffindor. He was what everyone expected him to be.

Shrugging his shoulders and getting rid of those thoughts, the trio headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The entire time, Harry felt an uncomfortable prickling on the back of his neck, like someone was watching him or thinking about him. When he turned around, though, there was no one there. Nothing to hint at why his neck was prickling and the hairs standing up on end. He tried to dismiss it, but his food turned to sandpaper and conversation seemed stale. He cursed inside his head. Why did one stupid, stupid hunch have to ruin a perfectly good morning? It was getting off to a good start. Well, as good as it could be with both DADA and Potions lined up.

Breakfast finished in a blur, seeming to speed by. On the way to defense, Harry contemplated why it was that when you were dreading something time seemed to play a joke on you and double it’s speed so the event you were dreading comes even quicker than you knew it would. Was it something to do with how people occasionally messed with time streams which disrupted it? Or was it just good old Murphy’s Law. Who knew.

Page break.

The dark wooden door, with a sickeningly pink bow on the door handle, loomed before him. Fear was pooling in the pit of his stomach. Even though he knew that most days were without confrontation, just 

filled with lies and overbearing opinions, Harry had a feeling that this lesson today was going to be a disaster waiting to happen. Call it a sixth sense, but Harry called it instinct. 

And it never failed him yet.

“Harry, are you alright?” asked Hermione, peering at his face. Harry could feel his eyebrows knitting together in worry, though tried to dispel it. Today was just another awful day in Defense Against The Dark Arts, nothing was going to go wrong. Not if he could help it. Not that he often could.

“I’m fine, just a bit worried about any sort of confrontation,” he replied, checking his bag to make sure he had his book. Recently he’d discovered that if he feigned reading the book and kept his mouth shut, while reciting spells in his head, he was clear under the ‘Professor’s’ radar.

“You’ll be fine, Harry,” Ron chimed in. He knew this was bit of a sore spot for Harry, who just finished his latest bout of detention with Umbridge. “Just keep your head down and don’t let your temper get the best of you.” Usually Harry would consider this as unusual advice from Ron, but he didn’t care. Anything to not get a detention again. Even though he would never give Umbridge the satisfaction and refused to tell a member of the faculty, the fact that she thought it was alright to torture a student made his blood boil.

The door opened with an ominous creak and they all filed into the classroom and sat at their desks. The mood was somber at best, everyone keeping their eyes down to avoid looking at the pink clad toad to sat at the front of the classroom, stirring her tea with her wand. Harry knew from looking at it that it was a short wand, which sometimes meant there was something severely lacking from the character of the person in question. It was something he’d learned when he was madly trying to find the answer to the clue. Harry was glad he’d come across it. The information gave him another reason to dislike Umbridge.

Harry sat down next to Ron, pulling out the drearily boring textbook that Umbridge had assigned to the entire fifth year population. His wand was meant to be in his bag, but Harry stealthily stowed it in his robes, something that he thought would have escaped Umbridge’s watchful eye.

Unfortunately it didn’t.

“Mr Potter, could you please put your wand away, we don’t and never will need it in this class.” Umbridge’s sickly sweet voice made a shiver go down Harry’s spine. There was something wrong with it today. Her voice seemed to be laced in even more sugar and sweetness, as if she was trying to entice someone into a house in the woods. There was a venomous undertone to it and Harry really didn’t feel like getting on her bad side today. So, he slipped it back into his bag and scowled on the inside. She could never notice that. As of late, Harry considered himself a marvelous actor to all but those closest him. Namely: Ron and Hermione. 

“Good morning, class,” said Umbridge, as if she never spoke to Harry and was starting the class anew. They chimed a good morning back at her, the fakeness of it evident even to Harry’s ears. Umbridge seemed satisfied, though, so she flicked her wand at the board. Elegant, twirly instructions appeared there, telling them to read Chapter Twelve, section c. Harry turned the page and felt his stomach drop.

This was why Harry’s instinct was jumping at him to get out of there, telling him that something was going to go dreadfully wrong. The content of the chapter was enough to make him growl, something that he considered rather animalistic. It didn’t matter now, what the chapter was talking about was enough to make him want to curse Umbridge into oblivion.

At the top of the page were the neat words: How to deal with Half Breeds, specifically: Centaurs. 

Ever since Firenze saved him in the Forbidden forest in his First Year, Harry had a soft spot for Centaurs. To see them being so obviously degraded was infuriating. Harry knew that they didn’t really like humans, and 

now he really understood why. It was all clear. He had an inkling of an idea before but now it was as if a haze was being lifted from over his eyes. Dumbledore was someone he looked up to in many ways 

Harry looked to his left and saw that Hermione, sitting next to Lavender, was twitching and looking very riled up. He didn’t know how Umbridge could miss her infuriated face, miss his infuriated face. Just the fact that she was willing to teach this to students, to try and imbue them with false knowledge and prejudice disgusted him.

Unable to even read the first word on the page, Harry put his hand up in the air and glared as hard as he could at Umbridge. She didn’t seem to notice at first, seeming to maintain an air of sugary indifference, murky brown eyes surveying the class like she was an army officer. Harry saw her eyebrows flicker in interest, rarely did he put his hand up to contribute. In his peripheral vision, Harry could see Hermione twitching her head side to side, trying to tell him no. To his right, Ron had gone pale. He knew this was going to be bad.

And Umbridge knew she was in for an explosion comparable to a nuclear bomb. Not that she knew what that was.

“Mr Potter, you have a question?” she simpered, placing her wand down on her dark wooden desk, decorated with frilly pink ribbons and plates with enchanted pictures of cats. Harry raised his head proudly and decided to do something he never thought he would be doing today: opposing Umbridge.

“Yes, I do,” he growled, fingers gripping the side of the desk and knuckles going white he was holding on so hard. He could feel each and every knot and scratch in the wood.

Umbridge inclined her head, a wide smile on her face, eyes glittering with malice. “Go ahead,” she practically purred. Harry shivered and glared hard at her, infuriated with her twisted morales, so twisted that they belonged in a thorn garden and she was the withered, poison rose at the center.

“Why do we need to learn to defend ourselves against Centaurs and other magical creatures? Dragons I understand, kelpies I understand, they’re aggressive, but centaurs and goblins and mermaids are only hostile because of the awful, horrifying way they have been treated!” The class fell silent and Harry felt every eye on him, boring holes through him, horror and curiosity clouding the thick atmosphere of the classroom. 

Umbridge raised an eyebrow and reached for her wand.

Harry did the same despite the warning quirk of the corner of Umbridge’s wide, toad-like mouth.

“Why, Mr Potter, these ‘magical creatures’ as you so eloquently put them,” there was a mocking tone to Umbridge’s voice as she spoke, “are no more than dangerous half breeds. They simper up to us higher beings with a false sense of humanity, trying to trick us into thinking that we should trust them.”

“And that is just the issue!” said Harry venomously, standing up and pushing the worn bench seat out from under him with a scraping noise that usually ground on his nerves.

“What is the problem, Mr Potter?” asked Umbridge, fist clenched around her wand as if it was her last tie to sanity.

“Trust! Trust is the problem! No one is willing to actually talk to these people―”

“I assure you, Mr Potter, they’re not people. They are lowly creatures that deserve to grovel at the feet of our superiority.” Harry bristled, also gripping his wand hard to stop him cursing her into oblivion. It was a tempting thought to entertain, but really wouldn’t get him anywhere in the long run.

“They are people! They have their own culture and languages and customs and traditions. The only reason they are hostile towards us is because of the way they’ve been treated. I for one have a soft spot for centaurs. Do you know why this is, Professor?” Umbridge took several steps forward, her pink kitten heels tapping harshly on the stone castle floor. She stopped in front of Harry’s desk and leant down.

“And why is that?” she whispered, quirking her horrid head to the side in some mocking impression of a curious kitten. Harry moved forward and came face to face with her, so close he could smell her breath, laced with sugary tea he knew he loved to slowly sip while surveying his torturous detention, all of them with a calm indifference. As if what she was doing was right.

Harry smirked. “Firenze saved my life in my first year.” Umbridge recoiled as is slapped, her cheeks colouring a brilliant shade of fuchsia that Uncle Vernon would have been proud of. Her left eye was twitching violently and she looked like she wanted to grab someone and strangle the poor soul.

“Preposterous! You’re make that up, telling lies.” Umbridge grinned in triumph, like she’d made some grand conclusion. In reality she was just repeating her past accusations as if they were something grand. Like she should win a prize. Harry was expecting this, so took a step forward and put his wand in front of her face.

“Professor,” Harry spat, narrowing his eyes at her, “this little stick of wood is capable of more than people think. It is a weapon, one of the most powerful in existence. With this piece of wood you can make things explode, drain entire lakes and kill with two words.” A shiver traveled around the class at his words, though Harry kept his eyes locked on Umbridge’s. “With this wand, people, people like you, have driven entire civilisations out of their homes for their gain, to get something that they want. People like you are the reason that we live in such a twisted, selfish civilisation. You can’t just go around tearing apart families, yet you do, and without a second of hesitation.

“These are not people, Potter! They are no more than savages, without the capacity for family, who don’t like us and will declare war on us in a fleeting second for no good reason! You’re illegitimate claims are spreading poison into the minds of your fellow students and it is sick that you believe this is the truth,” hissed Umbridge, warning laced all throughout her voice. Harry immediately thought of a particularly deadly rattlesnake waiting to strike. Regardless, he ploughed on, reckless and wanting to defend the magical creatures who were only as hostile as they were because of oppression and selfish Witches and Wizards.

“The only reason they are ready to declare war on us in a second is because of people like you. I respect the fact that they don’t like us, that they practically abhor us, because we as a race have given them no good reason to treat us with respect. And do you know what I would like to do?” 

“And what may that be?” 

“I want to mend the gap between us and them, give them the rights that they deserve. We shouldn’t be taught that these people are dangerous, we should learn how to treat them with the respect that they deserve! Why do you think that it is―” Harry was thrown to the floor as a sickly yellow spell hit him directly in the chest at point blank range. He slammed into the ground in a cloud of dust and stone, hitting his arm on the side of the desk behind him, where Seamus and Dean sat. 

There was silence, except for the ragged breathing of Harry, who lay on the ground. His arm was blazing with pain, like a match had been lit to his blood. He wouldn’t scream though, wouldn’t groan. He wasn’t going to give Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing she hurt him badly. His glasses were across the aisle, lenses cracked and glass all over the floor.

A desk scraped and footsteps sounded. Harry didn’t know what was going on, as his eyes were squeezed shut, until a slap echoed around the classroom, followed suit by an audible gasp from every student in the class. Harry knew that Hermione was standing in front of Umbridge, arm still raised from the fierce 

backhand she just dished out.

Slowly opening his eyes, Harry saw an aghast Umbridge and an infuriated Hermione. An ugly red mark was spreading rapidly across Umbridge’s face, with different shades visible even from his blurry point of view. Slowly, trying not to wince from the shooting pain in his left arm, Harry, raised himself up and stood, leaning heavily on the desk.

“How dare you hurt Harry like that!” screeched Hermione, hands quivering by her side in rage. Her robes were rumpled and her hair frizzled, sweat marring her brow. “You are a Professor, not some psychopath! You should know that all you are preaching in disgustingly wrong and Harry’s outburst is a result of years of frustration on both his part and my part.” Harry blanched. He didn’t know that Hermione knew about his frustrations over the way magical creatures were treated.

“Hermione, don’t—” Harry groaned, groping around the aisle for his glasses, which he knew were broken.

“No, Harry, I will defend you,” Hermione snarled, turning back to Umbridge. Before she could continue her rant, Umbridge found her voice.

“How dare I? Detention for both of you for a month and class is cancelled today. I expect not a word of this to reach anyone or you will be in deep—” People started whooping in joy and before Harry knew it, only him, Hermione and Ron were left in the class with an infuriated Umbridge. “Tonight in my office. Don’t be late.” Shivers went down his spine and, supported by Ron and Hermione, the three of them scurried out of the classroom, glad to be rid of the despicable toad.

Page break. 

Harry nursed his arm as they staggered towards the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, stomach churning violently. His chest was aching up a storm where it was hit with the unknown spell, and Harry was in the dark as to what the spells long time effects of the spell were. Hermione was still fuming and Ron looked very pale, so pale his skin was stark white underneath his multitude of freckles. 

“Harry, we really should go to the hospital wing,” pushed Hermione, for what seemed the umppteenth time in the five minutes since they’d escaped the classroom. Classroom, Harry snorted inside his head, more like brainwashing chamber. 

“No, Hermione, we can’t do that. I don’t want to give her the—”

“Don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she hurt you and got to you,” nattered Hermione, mocking his words every single time he came back from a detention. “Harry you can’t let her continue to do this. She can’t harm a student and expect it to be kept under wraps, like nothing happened. She’s toxic, a despicable human being thinking she can just attack you like that.”

“Hermione has a point, mate,” said Ron, breaking his rather lengthy silence. Harry whipped his head around to glare at Ron, who recoiled from the sudden change in mood. To have his friends blatantly ignore what he was saying, his wishes, it made him feel a little sad. They were supposed to be there for him…

Harry shook his head. What was he thinking? They were only looking out for him, doing what they’d always done. They were the wall that kept him standing, the two people he could rely on more than anyone else. Why was he having doubts now, after five years of fast friendship with only a few hiccups.

Shaking his head, Harry winced as pain lanced up his arm once again, reminding him that his defence of the Centaurs and other magical creatures had failed miserably. It landed him with a wounded pride and blistering pain in his arm. Not to mention the spell that impacted his chest, dangerously unknown.

“Look, just leave it at the moment. It’s nearly the next period anyway, so we may as well go down to potions to avoid Snape’s wrath,” suggested Harry. He didn’t even need to look to the right of him to see that Ron was looking at him like he’d gone made. Even Hermione was giving him major side eye, her warm brown eyes flickering back and forth, trying and failing to be discreet in her concern for him.

The truth was, Harry really didn’t feel like getting into another argument, especially with Snape. Perhaps if Harry just stayed silent and did his work he would stay under the dungeon bat’s enormous radar. Surprisingly, Ron stopped, rubbed his temples vigorously and slowly, very, very slowly, turned around and started walking the other way, towards the dungeons and the dreaded potions class.

“Only for you, Harry,” he groaned, grabbing Harry’s good arm and dragging him along the corridor at a pace that would rival a funeral procession. On the somber walk, none of the three talked, keeping their heads down and condemned to the fact that they were doomed for a Potions lesson. Perhaps one where Snape would have the good graces to leave Harry alone for once, rather than peering over his shoulder and sneering at Harry’s every move and berating his efforts to make a decent potion. 

It wasn’t likely.

Page break.

Turns out, the odds never worked in Harry, Ron or Hermione’s favour. More in Hermione’s favour, whose potions, always perfect, were harder, though not impossible, for Snape to berate. In the other two’s case though, as they weren’t as great at potions and far less inclined to be bother due to Snape’s terrible teaching, the fates didn’t tip in their favour in the slightest. Not even if you twisted your head to the side, squinted your eyes and looked through highly saturated rose tinted glasses could you see that the odds twisted even infinitesimally in their favour.

The lesson was a disaster. A complete and utter debacle. Harry kept his head down, glancing up only to glean the chalky instructions from the blackboard. His potion was going rather well, until Snape swept over, face twisted in a disgusting sneer. Snape didn’t say anything, just looked at Harry with a cruel gleam in his eyes, cold, dark tunnels, such a stark contrast from Hagrid’s beetle eyes. Harry kept his head down and carried on toiling over the challenging brew, becoming slightly entranced by the swirling colours that he knew were completely wrong.

Snape straightened and then turned around, cape sweeping over the table where Harry’s carefully prepped ingredients sat, waiting for him to use them. The coarse cape, subtle as it could be, knocked one of the fragments of boomslang skin off of the table and down into the cauldron. Harry stared at the simmering cauldron for a second, watching the ripples spread outwards. A feeling of dread started to boil in his stomach, thick, roiling and very, very prevalent. 

Before he could even open his mouth to verbally combat Snape’s rather convenient cape, his potion began bubbling, making disgusting hissing noises. Instinctively, Harry knew what to do. He knew he should duck before the entire thing exploded. Unfortunately, his anger at Snape was overpowering his common sense. While he was glaring daggers at Snape’s back, preferably ones covered in Basilisk venom, his brew exploded with an excruciatingly loud boom!

Lukewarm orange potion, runny in texture, careened outwards, coating anything and everything in range. A foul odor quickly filled the classroom. It stopped everyone in their tracks, even Hermione who never let potion disasters, or in this case potion sabotage, distract her from her work. It reeked of rotten eggs and off milk, entering each of their sensitive noses and launching an assault on their smell sensors. Several people fell to their knees, clutching their noses and gagging, the smell was so intense and thick. 

“What in Merlin’s name was that, Harry?” gasped Ron, holding his robes over his nose. Harry, doing the 

same, shook his head violently, staring forlornly down at the remains of his seventh cauldron, smoking and slightly glowing on the goop covered ground. It was hard to find a spot on his robes was wasn’t coloured the rather obnoxious orange, but he found it.

“Snape swept boomslang skin into my potion,” he hissed back, quietly enough so that he thought Snape wouldn’t hear. Of course, he did. Whipping around, he stalked over to where Harry and Ron were standing, visibly seething. He kicked the ruined cauldron aside and cleared the area where he was standing. It landed with a final clunk near Malfoy’s feet, who was currently sniggering, safe from the explosion.

“Do you dare to say that again, Mr Potter?” Snape drawled, knowing he had the upper hand, even over two-thirds of the Golden Trio. Harry glowered, knowing that is he said a word more he would earn a second detention and likely lose his house a fair few more points than he’d lost in the past few weeks, all in one go.

“No, sir,” he replied, kneeling down and beginning to siphon the ruined potion off of the ground with the Tergeo spell that Hermione showed him at the beginning of the year. Snape nodded his ‘approval’ and moved to the front of the classroom, leaving the most of the class to deal with the awful smell themselves, not offering the slightest bit of help.

Page break.

Harry fumed. Enough was enough. He was done with school today, he was going to go and hole up in his dorm and stay under the covers and then go and find a patch of grass and curse it to the stars and back. Then he would regrow it, because it would look rather odd if there was a patch of scorched grass in the middle of a green area.

“I just don’t get it,” he growled. Currently, he was walking next to Ron and Hermione, looking for a time and place to slip away to his dorm room and contemplate which patch of grass he was going to be hexing. Maybe he could enchant it to look his Umbridge?

“These things happen, you just have to take them in your stride,” said Hermione confidently, completely ignoring Harry’s foul mood. In the past few days she experienced a lot of moody Harry, and now she was just going to ignore it. And get him to go to lunch before running off to his dorm, though she would have liked to stop him. She knew that when Harry got into a strop, it was best to leave him alone for the first few hours. Honestly, he didn’t even thank her for healing his arm just before they made it into potions, though she knew he would do it later.

“I know, but I worked hard on that potion and to have Snape just sabotage it like that. It just drives me mad.”

“What, madder than you already are?” teased Ron. Harry turned sharply and Ron stopped.

“First I have it from the bloody prophet, I don’t need you painting me as mad as well. Everyone is painting me as this complete psycho who could snap at any moment. Seriously, don’t start being tainted by them as well.” By now Harry was pleading, gone from raging to sober in a moment. He looked between his friends and hung his head. “I’m sorry for being such a complete prick. You don’t deserve the way I spoke to you, neither of you.”

Hermione nodded her approval and grabbed Harry’s arm as he abruptly turned around to head back towards the dorm, to his retreat. Honestly, he wouldn’t get anywhere just going to brooding under the scarlet, embroidered covers of his bed. His bag banged against her arm and Harry huffed, turning back around and glowering at her, green eyes sour.

“Alright, just lunch. And maybe you could convince me to go to Transfiguration if the food cheers me up,” 

he suggested, as if presenting the idea to himself and not just Ron and Hermione. Harry’s hands flew into his bag and retrieved a book, handing it over to Hermione. He skipped on ahead, leaving to bemused but concerned friends behind him. They shrugged their shoulders, but Hermione looked down in her hands and snorted.

“What is it, Herm?” asked Ron. Hermione scowled at the nickname, though it wasn’t as bad as ‘Mione.

“He’s given me his potions book. Honestly, the things that go through his head,” she said, stowing it in her bag and planning to give it back to him tomorrow when his mood blew over. Surely, he would go to potions tomorrow and be her partner, where she could keep his rather fiery temper under control.

“The things that go through his head are wonderful things, Hermione,” said Ron. “A bit loony, a bit out there, but wonderful things. People just can’t see past the rumours and lies spread about him, they can’t see the person who lies beneath. It pains me that they can’t, but I guess if we’re there for him, that’s all that matters.” He glanced over at Hermione and could see a single tear welling up in her right eye. He turned away, cheeks burning pink with embarrassment.

A surprised yelp sounded from the Great Hall, followed by a joyous laughter that definitely belonged to Harry, though something seemed off about it. It seemed slightly artificial, as if Harry was trying too hard to make people think he was actually amused.

They rushed forward and into the hall, only to be faced with Harry and Luna on the ground, looking rather dazed. People were sneaking concerned glances at the pair of them, though some were chuckling at the paris antics. Luna stood and offered a hand dramatically to Harry, who took it and stood up, wobbling slightly. A grin lit up his pale face as he bowed to Luna, doffing an imaginary top hat. She curtseyed back and gave him a feather from her bag. 

The whole proceeding was a bit theatrical, if one were to ask Hermione, though she was so happy to see him happy as opposed to sulking or lamenting the fact that potions was just around the corner. She was very mad at Snape for sabotaging Harry’s potion, though what much could she do other than support Harry?

Ron and Hermione joined Harry the the Gryffindor table, which was crowded with students at their end, looking for the ham. Harry grabbed some and began constructing a sandwich that looked remarkably like a food version of a stronghold. Either that or a hunting outpost, whatever they were called.

“So, Harry, what is that you’re hiding?” asked Seamus from across the table, his Irish accent cutting into his blissful construction and making him misplace a slice of cheese, causing the entire fortress to tumble to the ground in a pile of salady stuff.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry calmly, beginning to reconstruct his masterpiece.

“Well, we all know you three are hiding something. Something big. Something that the daily prophet would want to know about,” smirked Seamus. For a second time, the food fortress collapsed in on itself. Harry whipped his head up and glared at Seamus, green eyes cold with months of built up frustration. Seamus was okay, though ever since the beginning of the year and the debacle in the common room, he was grating on Harry’s nerves. Nerves which were remarkably short at the current time.

“We are hiding nothing, I assure you,” he snarled, unconsciously grasping the fork next to his plate. Seamus, not fazed by the sudden mood shift, ploughed on.

“Look, everyone knows it, Poster Boy,” he chided, as if Harry said something wrong and deserved to be reprimanded. “The way you three carry on, reading so many books and then running out of the common room. We all know you were looking for something. And you found it. So, what is it?” Beside Seamus, 

Dean and Neville looked remarkably uncomfortably, slowing edging away from the seething brunette.

“Seamus, where did this come from?” asked Ron, butting in and saving Harry from having to formulate an answer. 

“It is everyone’s frustrations, Ron!” exclaimed Seamus, planting his hand down hard onto the table, making the cutlery shake and the plates rattle. “I’m sick of you, the Golden Trio, being the talk of the tower, the big mystery that everyone is trying and failing to solve. If you just tell us what is going on then maybe you won’t have fifty Sherlock Holmes’ chasing after you trying to decipher you mysteries!”

Harry looked up at the teacher’s table and felt his heart drop when he saw McGonagall glaring at the three of them questioningly, telling them to stop the argument before it became so explosive that she needed to intervene. He turned back to Seamus and decided to make the final statement. Unfortunately, Hermione bet him to it. 

“Just stay out of it, Seamus,” she whispered, deadly as poison. Seamus stopped his crusade to stare at her. Never before had Seamus heard Hermione speak in that deadly tone, though he knew it meant something bad was coming, likely him being spelled into a mess. Or, in Hermione’s case, lectured until he wanted to put his tail between his legs and scamper away to hide under his bed. 

Getting out of his stupor, Seamus raised an eyebrow, leaning over the table towards Harry. “Or what?” he challenged. Harry suddenly felt pressure pushing down on his shoulders and all he could hear were the insults just slung at him. Poster boy. 

Pressure. 

Poster boy.

Pressure.

It’s everyone’s frustrations, Ron!

Pressure!

So what is it!

Pressure!

I’m sick of you, the Golden Trio!

PRESSURE!

Abruptly, Harry stood up and tumbled backwards over the bench seat, not feeling all the eyes on him or the pain as he slammed into the floor, hard. Robes sprawling everywhere, Harry picked himself up and left the Great Hall among concerned murmurs and amused snickers there was nowhere he was safe from the pressure pushing down.

Nowhere he could have a safe haven and be safe from the voices the voices the whispering the footsteps why were people following him where was he.

His very own footsteps pounded a panicked rhythm into his mind, a drum that represented his pounding heart, his iron skin cold from the insults flung at him though cracking under the pressure all the pressure pressing down constricting him. 

Vision blurred, Harry pressed on, not knowing where his feet were taking him, not knowing where he was 

taking himself until he appeared in front of a painting of a frumpy looking woman. He was hyperventilating, though through his haze he knew to move the little bit of ivy from the corner of the decadent frame.

Oh God, what’s happening. I’m useless why was I triggered by something like that? I must be a psychopath if a simple argument set me off. 

He found it, the safe haven he was looking for, somewhere where he could be alone and panic about everything that happened to him and all the bad things that were going to happen to him alone. Where he could be sucked into the neverending vortex, devoid of all life, and wonder why he didn’t just end it all.

I must be horrid if I invoke that type of emotion in people. Other people don't do that, why do I?

The painting flipped forward, Harry missed the concerned look the frumpy woman cast at him, rushing in and pulling the painting shut behind him. He wasn’t aware of how blindingly bright the corridor was, only how his eyes were rolling in their sockets but not, of how his heart felt like it was going cold but was being impaled by rods of fire at the same time. 

I need to get out of here where’s the exit, I don’t know where to go why can’t I get out. Help! There’s no one to yell for no one can hear me why am I even yelling. No one will hear me no one ever has. Help! 

He reached the chair with antlers on the back and sat down, putting his head in his hands.

Why are you yelling, no one will hear you, IDIOT! STUPID! USELESS! 

Don’t let them get to you.

But I’m broken no one will ever hear me.

Breathe, Harry breathe. 

Hermione’s voice filled his head and Harry looked up, noticing for the first time where he was. The Marauder’s den. His safe haven he just found and was never going to let go.

Poster boy.

His vision lost the black touches around the edges and his heart was released from the vice it was contained him, though still it beat like a marching drum that was horribly out of time. 

Only then did he become aware of his breathing, no, hyperventilating, filling the room with a sound that reminded Harry of the dementors, it was rattling and made it into his every orifice. Harry immediately held his breath, anything to get away from the sound, that haunting sound.

He didn’t remember getting there, getting to the Den. It scared him, petrified him even that his memory could just blank out.

What happened to me?

The door crashed open, slamming against the wall and dislodging one of the shoddily pinned posters. Harry looked up and released a breath, only then realising how cold he felt, how icy it was in the room and how his skin was blotchy, dark purple colours intertwined with orange and his own pale skin, so cold it made a grotesque art piece. But it wasn’t icy in the room, it was all him.

Ron and Hermione tumbled into the room, rushing over to him so fast it was blurred. But it wasn’t blurred it was just his vision playing tricks on him, making him see and believe things that weren’t real, tricking him, making him mad.

Maybe I am this psychotic person. Maybe I deserve all the slandering because all they’re telling is the truth. 

“Harry, snap out of it!” screamed Hermione, snapping her fingers in front of his vacant emerald eyes. He didn’t react, just sunk deeper into the cesspool, the whirling darkness of his thoughts as they consumed him. As they showed him the truth of who he was. He was mad. Completely and utterly mad.

This is what you are. Accept that you are a menace to everyone and everything around you.

Why, though?” he whispered, his words ice on the air and needles to his brain which was already consumed by the rampaging army of dark thoughts. He didn’t know who was in front of him, he could see but couldn’t, everything was blocked out. He knew but he didn’t. He was scared but he wasn’t. He was a warrior, ready to take anything and everything on if it decided to go against him and his morals. He was tough and fierce…

And weak.

Harry slumped down into the chair, limbs gone limp, useless as cold pasta. His eyes were bags of bleach, contorting everything he saw he saw Ron and Hermione who were they Ron and Hermione. He needed them. He was a warrior. A warrior. A warrior for his clan, the three of them.

A dull thump echoed around the brightly coloured room, Harry was smily aware that he’d fallen off the chair and onto the stone floor. It was coming closer, 

Large hands gripped his shoulders firmly, pulling him back up into the chair and murmuring words he couldn’t hear and couldn’t understand. 

Suddenly, it was like a bucket of ice cold water was poured over his head, dousing him in the bone cold reality and washing away the dark place where nothing was right and everything was wrong yet wrong was right and right was wrong. Turmoil was washed onto the floor and stamped on by a glowing stag, protecting him from the demons clawing and chewing inside his mind.

Ron swam into focus and Hermione’s hysterical crying reached his newly opened ears. There was no ringing and no tunnel vision, just instant overpowering regret intertwined with a silent apology that they would never hear because he would never have the courage to voice it. He pulled himself up in the chair, gripping onto the well worn armrests for support. Well aware of how much he was shaking now, how much he was scared of going outside of facing Seamus of doing anything I need to know please let me know TELL ME!

Harry screamed and gripped his head to get rid of the phantom controlling his thoughts. Then he stopped. As if nothing ever happened and everything was alright. He could pretend that everything was alright. It was easy. It wasn’t like he’d been doing anything else for most of the year. He could pretend alright.

“I’m fine.” He looked at Hermione, who was covering her mouth with her hands, salty tear tracks traversing her terrified face. His eyes softened and regret coiled in his chest. Never should he have scared Hermione or Ron like that. Never.

And never again. It would never happen. 

As he vowed this to himself, an epiphany came over him. All of the day’s frustrations rolled together, spurring it on, spurring something absolutely mad on. Well, I am a bit mad. The idea formed, glowing with a radiance never seen before except for when they found the diary. They were going to do the spell today, right now, stuff studying it. If they didn’t do it now he would never have the connection with his father he yearned for. 

Walking over to Hermione, he kneeled down and gently held her forearms, raising her to a standing position. She stood up limp, like a ragdoll, just following where he moved her. Ron joined him and slowly they both guided the hyperventilating girl into Moony’s seat, where she collapsed and her arms flopped down, hitting the wooden armrest. He sat back down in Prongs’ seat and tried to ignore the niggling residual panic knotted within his chest, carving its way around his spine.

“I have a proposition,” he said, once Hermione calmed down enough to look at with without wide eyes. She still gave him the side eyed glance, though Harry really didn’t mind it, just smiled softly knowing that his friends cared for him that much.

“What is it?” shuddered Hermione, hands twisting her robes back and forth to alleviate the fear she felt at Harry’s plight. She knew better than to bring it up straight away, though. That would just catapult him back into the midst of the battle he was fighting and to know he found a happy place was enough to placate her for the time being. He would eventually need to talk about it, though not right now.

Harry stood up, sweeping his arms over the parchment filled table. “We are going to do the spell now!” he exclaimed, jumping up onto the table and doing a very terrible tap dance. 

Too stunned to say anything, Ron and Hermione just gawked at Harry. It was a fair point, and they could tell there was a lot he was holding back for fear of rambling. They knew why though. The day’s frustrations all building into one snowball and causing him to make a rash decision. He had a fair point though. What more could they do than study that consequences and pronunciation, which had already been dissected to the point where they knew all the details of the first chapter and then some. 

Numbly, blocking out all of her rebuttal, Hermione nodded and Ron did the same, all without a word. Harry stopped his merry jig and a stunned silence filled the room, until his joyous laughter replaced it. Something so rare this bleak year, his two friends couldn’t help joining him on the tabletop and doing a dance that scattered stray parchment all over the room and caused the ground the vibrate with their rhythmic foot stomping and out of time clapping.

Three blinding grins lit up their three faces and Harry sighed, sitting down cross legged on the table. Ron and Hermione followed suit. Sweat dripped down their faces and their robes lay discarded on the floor.

“Do we want to do it now?” asked Ron, already prepared for the frantic nodding from Harry, though not so prepared for Hermione’s. Without even needing to grab the book, which none of them realised was still sitting in the Great Hall, held within Harry’s faded bag, Hermione raised her wand and pointed it towards herself, before reconsidering where she was sitting. 

“Maybe we should be standing before we do it,” she suggested. The three of them moved down and Hermione shivered, before turning her wand on herself. “Here we go. Shouldn’t be doing this, but here I go.” The silence was deafening, before, “Mutato in Animalis.” 

A bright flash filled the room, a beautiful green colour streaked with a dark red and occasional brown. It was over in a second, leaving no trace that it was ever there. Hermione squeaked and the two of them looked down, finding her on the floor, toppled over from the force of the spell. The middle of her chest was glowing slightly with the stunning green, which slowly faded away, absorbed by her magic.

“Are you alright?” asked Harry, kneeling down to help her up. “Looks like it was quite the spell if it was enough to knock you over.” Hermione scowled deeply at him, obviously because he stated the obvious. Harry put his hands up defensively, smirking slightly. There was the Hermione he knew.

“I am quite fine. It didn’t hurt, Ron.” She staggered to her feet, slapping Harry’s offered hand away. She seemed to make it out as if the spell was no big deal.

“Aren’t you going to say more. You know, like you always do,” said Ron, chuckling. “Anything to say before I go?” She shook her head wearily.

“Sit down and get the bloody spell right, you idiot,” she laughed, not bothering to take notice of how both Harry and Ron’s eyes bugged out at her cursing. “Do it before I cast the spell myself. It really isn’t a big deal. It’s actually rather easy when you concentrate on the spell and don’t let two immature boys staring at you distract you.” Their cheeks bled red in embarrassment, though Harry did snort slightly at the lecture they received. Typical Hermione. Typical Hermione that he never wanted to go away.

Ron flopped down into Padfoot’s chair and turned his wand onto himself, looking slightly scared and hesitant but slightly longing at the same time. A strange blend if someone were to ask Harry. No one was going to of course, though he did wonder why they both agreed to performing the spell so readily, without any complaints.

“Alright, I’m actually doing this,” he breathed, closing his eyes and then opening them, focusing on his wand. It made him go cross eyes, but Harry wouldn’t break Ron’s concentration. “Mutatio in Animalis!” It took a few seconds for anything to happen. The three of them looked very confused, until a bright red light punctuated with white, snaked out of Ron’s wand tip and found it’s way into his chest. It was an intricate spiral, performing several loop-the-loops on the way there. The three of them looked at it, entranced, until it was absorbed by Ron’s magic to await processing.

Hermione was practically humming, probably because of the different way their magic reacted to the spell. She didn’t rush over to her bag to get out parchment and paper like Harry knew she yearned to do. Just stood there, waiting for the light in Ron’s chest to fade. It did fade, though rather suddenly and with a shower of sparks, which made Ron yelp in surprise and try to get away from his own firework chest. They stopped after a few seconds and he calmed down.

“Your turn, mate,” he said expectantly. Harry was so excited he could barely feel his legs. Without saying a words, he sat down and turned his wand on himself. He was about to cast the spell, before a muffled yelling interrupted them, emanating from the banner in the corner. 

Harry could have laughed. The three of them completely forgot about the Marauder’s. What were they doing, casting the spell without asking the experts? Being reckless idiots. Harry didn’t mind. He was quite fond of being a reckless idiot, though he was glad he would be able to perform the spell in front of his father.

He tipped the cauldron over with his foot and moved over to the banner, pushing it aside. 

“Are you two coming, or not?” he asked. They rushed in and Harry let the banner fall behind them. It brushed on his leg, causing a shiver up his spine. 

They were greeted with a cacophony of yells and shouts, which was quickly silenced by James, who looked at Harry in such a way his heart swelled. No one uttered a single word, no sound filled the quiet room. Just anticipation, so thick you could cut it with a knife. Well, a severing curse would be far more effective.

Harry turned the wand on himself, feeling his heart swell as James and Sirius watched him, Remus smiling, the push evident in his warm hazel eyes. 

Smiling gently, Harry cast the spell. “Mutato in Animalis.” A sharp pain shot through his chest while a blue light pulsed outwards, before he fell to the ground amid concerned cries and watched as the world turned into a black velvet, nothing to see as he lost consciousness.

Page break.

The second that Ron and Hermione sprinted after Harry, Seamus looked under the table, seeing Harry’s bag just sitting there. Without drawing much attention to himself, he reached under the table and drew it towards him, curiosity refusing to be sated at the fact Harry was willing to run away to keep his secret under wraps. The bag was heavy, though he undid the worn buckle and flipped it open. The first thing he saw was a worn book with four animal prints on the front.

He didn’t know what it was.

But he was going to find out.


	6. Transformations

He was floating in nothing. Just a bright white light, surrounding everything. Exhaustion crept through his body, begging him to wake up. But not yet. He opened his eyes and saw a blue blob pacing around him, turning what looked vaguely like its head towards him. Harry walked forward, intrigued by the blob and what it could be. His limbs were pressed down with fatigue and just as he was going to reach the blob, slowly becoming more defined, the light speared into his eyes and he cried out in pain.

Harry gasped, sitting up suddenly and whipping his head around frantically. The room behind the Marauder’s den came into focus and a smile crept across his face. The spell worked. It worked, even if he somehow ended up unconscious. A deep thrumming could be felt through his limbs, identical to the effects that the book described. In his book, that was a win. The weird dream thing was even described in the book, though it was a rather rare occurrence, it could happen. At least he wasn’t going to turn into something green. Or a snake.

That would have been a disaster.

Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose and stood on shaky limbs, amid whispering and, pretty soon, cheers. The cheers were coming mostly from the painting, though Ron was having a good go at it. Hermione, on the other hand, oozed worry and concern, zooming over to Harry’s side before he could even realize what was going on.

“Harry, are you alright?” she fussed, smoothing out the crinkles in his shirt. Harry sent her a lopsided grin with the side of his face that wasn’t aching slightly.

“Couldn’t be better, Hermione,” he replied. She calmed down, realizing that this time he was being honest. He looked over at the painting and almost fell over at what he saw. James, Remus and Peter were huddling at the edge of the painting, obviously trying not to laugh their heads off. Sirius, seemingly oblivious to the others, was doing pull ups on the golden frame of the painting. With no shirt on. 

“Ron, have you got any idea what that is?” hissed Harry, trying astronomically hard to contain his own laughter. Hermione giggled and Sirius stopped, seemingly aware of the near hysteria he was causing. Shirt back on, James ran forward and jumped on Sirius’ back, grinning like a maniac.

“World, may I introduce to you, the Sexy Sirius Stud!” crowed James with mocking glee running through his tone. Sirius rolled his eyes and said something that sounded remarkably like prat under his breath. Soon everyone was laughing again. It became so intense that soon they were all rolling around on the ground. 

Several minutes later, they were all sitting down on various chairs, both 3D and 2D, in the case of the Marauders. James was almost jumping out of his seat in anticipation, his foot tapping a fast pace through the room. Harry raised an eyebrow at James and the scowl at not being able to talk disappeared from his face.

“So, Harry, did you see what your form is? I know you did the spell right, I could tell in the way your eyes were moving. It must have been good for you to pass out. At least you didn’t hit the ground hard, Hermione and Ron actually caught you. Similar to what happened when I used the spell, actually. So, what is it?” Harry blinked, processing all of the rapid fire words, before smiling and sitting back.

“A blue blob,” he said.

“Were you missing your glasses?”

“You’re animagus form is sentient slime?”

“How did that even happen?”

“At least it wasn’t green.”

Harry smirked. Their confusion was gold. “No, it just didn’t come into focus. I could see four legs and a head, and something that looked vaguely like a tail. Must be something like a large cat.” Everyone sagged in relief that he wouldn’t be running around as a blue blob, scaring the living daylights out of everyone. A large blue cat was very much preferable to a blob.

“Hermione, what is yours?” Harry asked. Hermione shrugged her shoulders, looking vaguely unsettled that she didn’t know what she would be turning into in a week's time.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I guess the only clue is that I feel rather feathery. I could be turning into a bird of some sort. It better not be a hippogriff, though. Those things really are quite scary.” Ron chimed in here.

“I feel furry. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, mate. There are so many furry things in the world that I wouldn’t have a clue about it.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “You guys do realise that over the course of the week the features of your Animagus form will bleed into your human form?” Harry and Ron sat up straighter, not remembering that piece of information as clearly as they would have liked to. Hermione nodded, picking at a feather that had suddenly replaced a lock of her hair. The feather was also brown, similar to her hair. “See, it’s already happening. I grew a tail and ears, James grew antlers and his feet turned into hooves. Peter’s whole head turned into a rat’s head. People gave us strange looks, though we could play it off as a prank.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione nodded. They knew plenty of concealment spells.

Sirius suddenly sat up straighter. “There is one thing I would like to know, though.” 

“What is it?” asked Harry, feeling a sense of foreboding. 

“Can you clarify the situation with Azkaban, please. I need to know what it is about and what the hell I did to get in there.” A pleading note bled through his voice and Harry put his head in his hands. This was not how he wanted to break the news to his teenage dad and friends that James and Lily died in just three short years, nor that Pettigrew betrayed them and Sirius copped the blame for it. Harry raised his head, eyes red. 

“Let Hermione tell you.” Said person looked over at him in shock, before conceding.

“This is an abridged version. You will find out the real version later, I don’t want to tell you right now.” Sirius nodded, leaning forward in his seat. Dark contemplation was all over his face, hands folded under his chin. 

“Go ahead.” Hermione nodded and began.

“Fourteen years ago, you were put in Azkaban for a crime you didn’t commit. Two years ago, you escaped using your Animagus abilities and after terrorising the whole wizarding populace of England, we found out you were innocent and Harry’s godfather. You were just trying to reach Harry, who had no idea who you were.” Harry nodded, glad she didn’t mention any names other than Sirius. As much as he hated Pettigrew, they were in a painting, mere shadows of their true selves. He didn’t even know if Pettigrew had taken the Dark Mark yet.

Hermione used the tempus charm and gasped at the time. Apparently, they were late, very late, for Transfiguration with McGonagall and the Slytherins. They said hasty goodbyes and soon found themselves standing outside yet another door.

Ron pushed it open and they strode to their seats, trying to stand tall under McGonagall’s glare.

Page break.

Harry and Hermione stood in front of Umbridge’s office door, which was gaping wide, like a mouth waiting to swallow them. Harry tried not to shiver or shudder, though the occasional one ripped through his body. Just as he thought he was done with the toad, there was more. More of everything. He had a plan, though. He would concentrate on looking forward to the next Wednesday, when their transformation would occur. If he kept his mind on that, surely he could pass this week's detention without any confrontation.

“Hermione,” he whispered. “Are you alright?” She was shuddering, eyes wide. Petrified would be the only word to describe her at the current place and time. Harry, too, was quaking in his boots. He could suffer silently, though. He was more than capable, and needed to make sure Hermione was alright. 

“Of course, Harry,” she chuckled. “How could anything ever be wrong? You're here.” She gripped his hand, a purely platonic gesture, and Harry held on tight. Support would be needed, even though no one would ever find out about what Umbridge was doing. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“It’s good to know you think that.” Then, before he could pull back, he knocked on the door. Umbridge opened it with a sickly smile and gestured to the two tables set out before her desk. They were plain and brown, unassuming and unnoteworthy except for the quill that sat on the pieces of parchment. Sharp, with jagged feathers, Harry wanted to run in other direction when he was walking towards them.

“Mr. Potter, you know what to write. Miss Granger, you will write: I must not strike a teacher. Until the meaning sinks in, go.” Umbridge walked over to the window and though they couldn’t see it, she was smiling a sadistic smile at their winces and gasps and groans. 

Page break.

The next day, with aching hands, Harry and Hermione went down to breakfast without Ron. He was suspiciously absent, but their questions were answered as soon as they stepped into the Great Hall. A full english breakfast was set out on the table, Ron chowing down on it with hearty gusto. Hermione rolled her eyes and covered her hand with her sleeve, cautious about anyone finding out. Harry didn’t know it, but she was thinking of a plan to get revenge on Umbridge without telling anyone. It would be her little prank and no one would be ever the wiser.

They sat down and Harry’s eyes widened as he noticed little triangles of black peeking through Ron’s red hair. He immediately felt his own head but felt nothing, just his own messy hair, oddly stiff. He reached down into his bag, retrieved from the Great Hall, to look through the Animagus Journal. Maybe there would be an answer in there as to what Ron’s form was.

Harry opened the bag and reached his hand down to the bottom, where the book was always kept. He felt around, but there was no book. Panic shot through him, but he told himself to calm down. There was no way someone could have realistically taken the book without him knowing. No one ever had a chance to look into it without him knowing…

A thought full of horror came to him Yesterday. The bag was left in the Great Hall. Someone must have taken it then, intent on knowing their secrets. Why anyone would steal a book that had pawprints on the front of it, he didn’t know. What he did know was that their secret was in jeopardy and whoever had it held a massive amount of blackmailing material over the three of them. 

Closing the bag, Harry sat back up, trying to look normal and not like the world was about to explode. Of course, Ron and Hermione latched onto this faster than a Firebolt, no surprise there. It was the others sitting around the table he was worried about. With the Daily Prophet continually slandering his name and calling him insane, looking extremely worried would do no good in the long run for him or his friends. The newspaper had a lot of credibility in a lot of people’s heads and they would sooner believe it than him. Looking petrified would most likely convince them that the ‘demons in his head’ were taking over.

No one seemed concerned in the slightest. Seamus’ eyes were glinting, sharp and cold, something Harry never saw from Seamus once in his entire life. Ginny was observing her scrambled eggs very closely and Neville was reading a book on plants, totally engrossed in it. So far, no one was concerned with his sanity today. And today, it was the last thing he needed.

The day passed quickly, Ron and Hermione finding out at lunch about how the book was missing. Harry also notified Ron about his growing ears when they were in the dorm room alone. The mystery of who had the book was also grating at his mind, though whoever it was had no proof that Harry used it. It could be a research text from the library for some off statement made in Transfiguration. 

Harry slept restlessly that night, twitching and feeling very furry. When he woke up, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary except stripes crisscrossing his body, which made him fall out of bed in shock. Ron found it very amusing that he was becoming stripey, though Harry shut him up with the fact that he was growing whiskers.

Down in the Common Room, they met with Hermione, who looked distinctly disgruntled. Her hair was also turning into brown, streaked feathers, which were a lot more frizzy than her usual hair. She remarked about how bad a head full of feathers was to sleep on, and Ron showed her his whiskers and snickered about Harry’s stripes. This all transpired in a corner, so they couldn’t see sharp brown eyes watching them from behind an edition of the daily prophet.

That evening, they met with the Marauders, who found Hermione’s father hair very amusing. The week went on like this, until Tuesday night.

By that time, Hermione’s entire head was covered in wayward feathers, charmed to look like her normal hair, as feathers for hair was an anomaly even in the Wizarding World. Her eyes had also turned to a deep brown, so dark they were almost like a pair of obsidians, taking over most of her sclera. These also had to be charmed. Ron had it the worst out of all of them. A pair of large orange ears were sticking out of his hair and a fluffy tail was wrapped around his waist, giving him a permanent look of eating too much food. Whiskers were sprouting from his nose and his hands were growing orange fur, a point which was embarrassing for Ron.

Harry, on the other hand, only had stripes all over his body, small round ears sticking out of his hair and a tail that was also wrapped around his waist. He still couldn’t shake the feeling of fur all over his body, and it was itchy. Several times, people suggested that he go to see Madame Pomfrey because of it. His Occlumency session also brought suspicion onto him from Snape, as he managed to block anything to do with the Animagus transformation. 

Several times, Hermione caught Seamus glance at them then disappear around a corner. This was normal for him though, Harry thought. What with Seamus hating him to the core of his existence and trying to convince others to do the same, Harry really didn’t care about his ‘sleuthing’. 

The night before the transformation, they slept roughly. The feeling of being furry was overwhelming and made him yearn for the transformation to just come already.

Page break.

The morning of the big day dawned, and Harry was uncomfortable. He got out of bed without anything eventful happening, and was splashing water over his face in the bathroom, without the concealment charms on. The water was cold and refreshing, making his right ear twitch. He snickered at this, but then the ear twitched again, hearing something. Harry stopped, froze halfway to splashing his face a second time, before he heard someone step out of the shower block. 

The ears on top of his head, blue and black, turned backwards, and Harry gasped when he saw Seamus reflected in the mirror, holding a particular missing journal. Now, this normally wouldn’t have been a problem, when Harry wasn’t growing animal extremities. Now, he was stripey, had a blue tail and blue ears. Which were showing. In plain sight for the world to see.

Harry turned around, his tail flicking side to side in his annoyance at Seamus and himself, for missing the meaning behind the glances. Seamus moved forward and grabbed the tail, causing Harry to growl. Not a normal growl, though. An animalistic growl, one that promised pain if the person did anything more.

Seamus looked down at the twitching tail tip and let go of it, handing the journal back to Harry. A smirked covered his face.

“I’ve figured out what you’re up to, Potter,” he sang, stepping back and winking. This confused Harry, who was dearly wishing he had claws at the current time and place. Seamus would regret getting on his bad side. Wait. That was not what he was thinking, it was his other form speaking, who Harry seriously though was some type of tiger by now. 

“And what is that?” delayed Harry, slipping the book into one of the pockets in his jackets he was wearing. If he could just run into the adjoining dorm room and grab his wand, a confundus charm would do the trick. Harry didn’t really trust the obliviate charm, not after the disaster of second year.

“The entire illegal animagus charm, taking directions from dead parents,” Harry flinched here and felt anger begin to rip shreds through his carefully deduced plan, “going behind everyone’s backs. You know, the usual drill with your Golden Trio,” Seamus smirked. “Taking all the adventures for yourself. It isn’t cool, mate.” Harry growled again, his tail lashing side to side. He took a step forward.

“Don’t call me ‘mate’,” he spat. “And don’t you dare talk about my parents in that voice. You know nothing of them, nothing about them. Don’t dare speak of them like that again.”

“And what do you know of them, Potter? You know less than me, I bet.” This was the final straw. Harry leapt forward, his wand flying into his hand with his exploding magic. Before Seamus knew what was happening, a wand was at his throat and Harry’s eyes were changing into tiger’s eyes, growing in size and ferocity, but staying the same electrifying green. 

Seamus’ breath caught in his throat when he felt the wand pressing into his jaw, not skimping on the pressure. Harry’s eyes, barely recognisable, stared back at him, feral and unpredictable. Sneakily, he reached down to his pocket and drew his wand. Before Harry noticed the movement, Seamus was pressing the wand into his torso, anger all over his face.

“Potter, what you’re doing is wrong. Don’t you know that?” Seamus warned, pressing his wand down harder. Harry winced and stepped back, removing his wand from Seamus’ jaw. But before Harry could say anything, Seamus hit him with a banishing charm.

He crashed into the sinks, shattering a mirror. Glass shards rained down over him, but Harry shook them off and stood back up, no grimace of pain anywhere to be seen. Seamus took a step back as Harry pointed his wand up, the tip glowing red.

“If you think I’m going to stop just because you have a problem with me reconnecting with my father, 

you’re sorely mistaken,” Harry hissed. “Stupefy!” The spell shot across the room, but Seamus dodged, barely missing cracking his head on a tiled wall.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Seamus shot back. Harry responded by erecting a shield. The spell ricocheted of it and back towards Seamus, who nimbly ducked under it.

“We really don’t need to do this,” Harry warned, getting ready to fire another spell. Before he could do that, a wave of pain arched through his back, causing him to fall to the floor. It was fire, everywhere, and then it stopped, leaving him panting on the ground.

“What the bloody hell was that?” whispered Seamus, wand falling down to his side. Harry, aching but determined, got to his feet, grinning. Seamus took a step back, eyes wide.

“I thought after reading the journal you would know what it is,” Harry said. Seamus shook his head. Harry grinned. “It’s time.” 

And time it was indeed. Ron came rushing into the bathroom, no concealment charms in place, massive ears sticking out of his hair. 

“I don’t really care what is going on in here, but we really need to get to the Den, Harry, it’s happening,” Ron puffed. Without saying anything, Harry nodded and grabbed Seamus’ arm, dragging him along. “WHy are you bringing Seamus?” Ron asked.

“He found out. Now, let’s go.” Harry ran past Ron and down to the common room, Seamus following behind. Hermione wasn’t there, so Harry ran over to the girls staircase and bellowed her name up the staircase. Next thing he knew, she was crashing down the stairs with a very sharp nose, grin wide. No words were needed before they sped off through the common room and the halls of Hogwarts, Seamus sharp on their tails.

They reached the portrait of the frumpy looking woman, who was also grinning. This was a very grinnable day. Before they opened it, Harry turned to Seamus.

“I want to to keep your mouth shut and never say a word against my parents again. If you do it in there, I ensure that you will be torn to shreds by the Marauders.” Ron flicked the switch, the portrait opening. They all tumbled in and Harry pulled it shut behind the four of them, glaring at Seamus, who shrugged his shoulders.

The Marauders were waiting.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” James whooped as they stepped into the room and sat down, leaving Seamus standing in a corner, gobsmacked at the sight of the Marauders.

“We’re waiting for it to happen, you prat,” admonished Hermione, too caught up in the moment to bother with having her trademark clean mouth. “The second we felt the wave of pain we came, you know it takes up to ten minutes to work. So, while we’re waiting, we can introduce you to Seamus Finnigan, who somehow managed to figure out what we were up to by swiping the journal.”

Harry and Ron sniggered as Seamus stepped forward, awestruck. Then his eyes landed on Sirius and he recoiled.

“That’s Sirius Black! Don’t you know what he did?” he snapped. Sirius stuck out his tongue. Seamus stared, before starting again. “You could be arrested for even consorting with a painting of a convicted murderer.”

“Who also happens to be my Godfather, so don’t you say a word against an innocent man, or I swear I’ll have your guts for garters and then give them to Umbridge,” Harry growled. Seamus gulped, all bravado 

draining out of him in mere seconds. Harry nodded and sat back down in his seat.

“So, you managed to figure out what they were doing and now you’re here,” said Remus. “Clever.” 

“And the award for most obvious observation goes to Remus Lupin,” drawled James. Hermione chuckled, before her face contorted with pain and she started to glow. She screamed, a bloodcurdling sound, before she closed her eyes, forgetting the rest of the world and being consumed by the magic. The rest of the room stared on in wonder and her face became a mask of peace and serenity. The light grew outwards, brilliant as the sun, and the silhouette of Hermione began shrinking down into a shape that couldn’t be seen in the center of the light. 

There was a pop and the light disappeared back into Hermione, or what was Hermione. There was now a ruffled green bird sitting there, scraggly feathers sticking up in all directions. Hermione squawked, looking over her new bird form, and reached down to replace her feathers back to their proper place. The Marauders looked proud, though Remus was looking a little blue in the face. 

“She’s a parrot,” he whispered. Hermione turned to him and her small, intelligent eyes surveyed him. If a bird could, she would be looking down on him.

Page break.

Hermione was wrestling with the instincts of the bird and her own common sense. The bird said to attack the painting and shred it to pieces. Hermione did not want to do this, as it was unproductive and there were other, more effective ways to exact revenge on people who thought her turning into a parrot was funny. It wasn’t. Hermione was actually quite glad she was a type of bird. She could now fly, something she always wanted to do, without having to go on a broom or a Merlin forsaken hippogriff. It gave her a freedom that had her itching to fly out the window right at this very second, feel the cold wind currents against her feathers and dodge the snow currently falling down.

She looked down at herself and wondered exactly what type of parrot she was and why she felt the overwhelming need to tear windscreen wipers off cars and steal people’s sandwiches. A mirror appeared in front of her, courtesy of Harry. She looked down and got a massive shock at the beak that took up a large portion of her face. Then she stopped. All birds had beaks. At least hers didn’t look like a spoon.

Her wings and back were a lovely green colour, like deep emeralds, and the feathers were smooth, a complete opposite to her head, which held a mix of green and brown feathers. That wasn’t what bothered her though. The feathers stuck out at every direction, rather reminiscent of Harry’s hair. It wasn’t something she was a massive fan of, though she guessed it was what characteristic of her human form had come across to her Animagus form. She stretched her wings out, seeing red feathers, and resisted the urge to preen her chest feathers. 

She turned around and saw a splash of red feathers down her back that didn’t extend into her tail feathers. Nodding her approval of her form, Hermione decided to try and fly. She flapped her wings and lurched forward, falling off her chair and landing hard on the ground. Amidst chuckled from the males of the room, she stood up on her weird new feet and tucked her wings back under her, reserving that for another day.

Hermione concentrated on turning back into her human form the way the book described it. She concentrated as hard as she could and soon was swaying unsteadily on her feet, something having gone wrong. She was her normal height but…

Her arms were still wings. She shook them and they turned back into arms. Hermione sat down and tried to recognise what type of parrot she was exactly, closing her eyes and concentrating, before the answer hit her. She was a kea, a bird native to New Zealand. She had seen them once while visiting the country with her parents when she was about eight. They were intelligent birds, and Hermione immediately became one with 

her form.

Page break.

The Marauders, looked at Hermione, who was sat down on a chair, and themselves. 

“Now that is how to manage an Animagus transformation!” called Sirius, clapping his hands. A grin stole over his face. “Though next time, maybe try flapping down instead of forwards. It may help.” Hermione rolled her eyes before turning back to Ron, Harry and Seamus. 

“Well, how did I do?” she asked, anxious. As much as she valued Sirius’ opinion, she didn’t really trust it.

“You just turned into a bird,” stuttered Seamus. “An actual, real to life, bird. Okay, this is amazing.”

“You did great, ‘Mione,” answered Ron. Hermione seemed satisfied, before turning to Seamus.

“Of course I turned into a bird. It is what an Animagus transformation is. Do you need to go back to first year when McGonagall told us what it was or are you going to stay here?” Seamus glared at her before saying no, he didn’t need to go back and was fine here, thank you.

Ron looked down at his hand when it started tingling, and smiled when it began to glow.

Page break.

There was no pain, just a brilliant red light the same colour as the Gryffindor common room. He spun around in it once, heard vague laughter, before he felt everything begin to change.

It didn’t hurt, not in the slightest, it was just the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever felt. His face elongated and his hair drew back into his scalp, only to have red fur grow all over him and his hands turn into paws.

The light snapped like a deadly spell and he dropped down to the ground, on four very long, gangly legs that were too long at the moment. He was shorter than he was used to, and the smells assaulting his nostrils were vile. He fell back on his haunches, clutching his nose to try and get rid of them, but then he smelt himself. 

Ron yelped and leapt across the room, his nose slowly adjusting to the smells of the room and its occupants. A hand came down with a mirror, placing it on the chair so he didn’t have to bend down. Ron moved towards it and jumped when he saw what his Animagus form was.

He was a fox. A fox with enormously long legs looking like he’d dipped them in ink. His ears took up the entire top of his head and twitched at the smallest sound. Compared to the people around him, Ron felt remarkably small. His muzzle was long, and his tail only came down half of the length of his hind legs. There were also claws in his paws which felt relatively uncomfortable while he was getting used to them. Ron ran around the room, only falling over his own legs twice.

Then the instincts of the animal came in. Ron was sitting there for a few minutes, nose twitching, listening to the muffled laughter and coos coming from the people around him. The animal said to give them a warning that he wasn’t to be trifled with and certainly wasn’t adorable, but Ron won over with the fact that he often laughed at Hermione and Ron in a good teasing way. 

Heading back to the mirror, Ron opened his mouth and examined his teeth. They were everywhere, and large. That would be effective against Malfoy. The thought made him chuckle, though it came out as a shrill hiccup the caused a fresh wave of laughter to go around the room.

Scowling, Ron concentrated on turning back into a human. It didn’t work, and he panicked. He was doomed to stay as a gangly fox forever. How was his family going to understand this? A firm pair of hands gripped 

his side and spoke calming words to him, telling him to calm down and concentrate. Ron moved to bite the hands but stopped a second before he did, using his paws to clutch his uncontrollable mouth shut. 

Calm now, he concentrated and with a crack, he was back as a human. The sudden height disoriented him and he fell backwards. Luckily, Harry caught him.

Page break. 

“I’m a bloody tall fox, how cool is that?” Ron boasted. 

“It would be cool, if you were a fox, Ron,” interrupted Hermione. Ron stopped his victory parade and looked at her.

“What do you mean I’m not a fox?” he asked, feeling quite disappointed. Hermione sighed.

“Ron, you’re actually a maned wolf. They are often mistaken for foxes, which is probably why you thought you were a fox.” Ron stopped to consider this for a moment.

“I’m a bloody maned wolf, how cool is that?” Hermione chuckled and sat down, looking intently at Harry, who was currently very stripey. Ron eventually did the same, as did Seamus, from his corner. Everyone was staring at him and he was uncomfortable with it. He waited for the transformation to happen.

Nothing did.

The Marauders began whispering. The ears on top of Harry’s head twitched, beginning to tingle. He clutched at his tail, nerves shaking like a plane in turbulence. It couldn’t be happening like this, it just couldn’t. It had to work. It was one of the only ways to become closer to his father and he wasn’t about to lose that because a stupid spell didn’t work.

“It isn’t going to happen like this,” he bit out, teeth clenched hard. The tingle in his ears responded, spreading through his body. A soft blue light slowly started glowing outwards, glowing brighter the stronger his willpower grew, the more he wanted it. He wasn’t going to fail. 

Finally, the light exploded outwards, penetrating the room. Everyone closed their eyes in response, the only thing they could see a wild blue light show through their eyelids. 

The tingling grew stronger, becoming so intense that it hurt. He was jerked left, then right. Up and down, the pain was beginning to go everywhere, nowhere near as bad as the cruciatus yet a different type of pain, coming from the inside.

He cried out, ripping his throat raw. This was not what he wanted. None of the pain, none of the hurt, just to become closer to his father, to know his parents.

A fresh wave of pain ripped through his body and he screamed, being lifted up off the ground. The people around him were shouting at each other, wondering what to do, when Hermione’s voice lifted above the rest in a desperate shriek.

A creature was pacing before him, majestic and proud, just out of reach. It was a tiger, green eyes glowing, with a stripe shaped like a lightning bolt going down the center of its forehead. Harry felt a pull to the creature and reached out for it, desperation making him move, pain making him move, determination making him move.

To the others, this was the worst thing they’d ever seen. Harry was in pain, more pain than they’d ever imagined possible. Each one of them was crying, but Hermione was the one to find her head. Drawing her wand from her robes, she desperately searched through her head for a spell that could possibly stop Harry’s 

agony. A spell popped into her head, and without considering the consequences, she cast it, hoping against every hope that it would help Harry. 

“FINITE INCANTATEM!” she shrieked. The spell shot forward and was absorbed into the light.

Harry felt something interfere with the pain, and he welcomed it. It swirled around in the light, before delving into him. It was like a cool wave of water, numbing the pain. But when that pain stopped, Harry felt himself changing, growing taller and broader. Something was seriously wrong, and he was being stretched. His glasses flew off and harry groaned as he felt something creeping down his back then whip around him. The light hurt the thing down his back and he willed it to stop. He felt lighter, somehow, and his eyes grew apart, growing larger, his ears moved upwards and his nose flattened to be like that of the tiger’s. Again, he willed it to stop.

So it did.

Harry dropped down to the floor, amidst the horrified cries of his friends and the Marauders. He felt different, stronger somehow. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes and looked down at his skin.

It was blue and striped, his hands huge. He turned them over, then looked up his arms, which were also blue and faintly striped, with small pinpricks of light weaving their way down in intricate patterns.He felt his heart stop and slowly, he propped himself up to the chair where he’d left the mirror for Ron. Harry was trembling as he reached for the mirror, which was tiny in his huge hand. Harry stood up before he looked at himself in the mirror, but his head hit the ceiling, which on his estimate was about eight feet tall. Panic gripped his freely again, though it wasn’t all consuming.

The rest of the room was silent as he sat down and realised he had a tail. Tears began to prick in his eyes in confusion. Slowly, Harry turned the mirror around.

What he saw made him drop the mirror. 

It shattered.

His face was blue, with large, green, catlike eyes. His nose was also like a cat, though there was no fur in sight, just blue, faintly striped skin. Small black tendrils of hair fell around his face, and a large braid hung down his back. His ears sat high up, just above his eyes, and were twitching at all of the sounds around him. 

Harry slowly rose to meet the gazes of everyone else in the room. When he spoke, his voice was broken, like a snapped bowstring.

“What am I?”


	7. The Protector

The world seemed to have slowed, revolving around this one disaster. Harry was leant against the chair, which really was too small and spindly for his now ten foot height, arms coiled around his knees, which were drawn up against his chest. Tears cut tracks down his cyan face, dripping pathetically onto the ground. The rest of the rooms occupants seemed to be frozen in time, staring in astonishment at the giant blue cat person, sitting down, crying his eyes out. 

There was a dull ache in his limbs, a reminder of the stabbing agony that just ripped through him. The memory was still fresh, though fading fast, as memories of pain usually do. Harry, to be honest, was just glad he was alive and not on the ground in a puddle of blood. 

Hermione was suddenly struck out of her reverie and dashed forward. Despite the fact that she was nearly five feet shorter than him, she reached up and wiped the tears off his face and knelt down next to him. She didn’t say anything; nothing needed to be said. Harry just needed comfort.

The shattered mirror lay in shards, reflecting fractals of Harry’s new appearance. He kept glancing over at it and then recoiling, seemingly festering in the pressing silence. Ron and Seamus slowly moved forward, eyes flicking restlessly between Hermione and Harry. Eventually, they were all huddled around Harry, who towered over all of them, whispering words of comfort. 

Harry’s head snapped up, straggly, shoulder length black hair rippling. “What if I can’t turn back?” he whispered. He had just voiced their biggest fear. None of them had an inkling what had actually happened to cause Harry to seemingly merge between his Animagus form and human body. Hermione had a dark feeling it was her Finite Incantatem that had caused it. She was just thankful that he was alive.

“Have you tried?” replied Ron. His heart was aching, he dearly wanted to do something to make Harry happy again. To see his best friend, his brother in all but blood, so desperate and consumed by grief was one of the worst things he’d ever faced.

“I don’t want to. What if it hurts?” The last thing Harry wanted was to relive that agonising pain.

“You have to attempt it, Harry.” The fond voice came James, who was sitting cross legged on the grass of the ever changing painting and looking like he wanted nothing more than to jump out of the frame and embrace Harry. Fresh tears ran down Harry’s face as he nodded stiffly, hands shaking with terror. The calm voice of his usually frantic father 

Everything was going wrong, and if he couldn’t turn back to his human form he didn’t know what he would do. Maybe the forbidden forest would be a good option? He could live with the Centaurs, out of the way of the wizards, who would cast him out the second they set eyes on him. 

Banishing the demeaning thoughts, Harry stood up, stooping over. He stumbled a bit, disoriented with his new body, which may be his new permanent body. The ceiling brushed against his shoulders, making him rather uncomfortable.

Wiping stray tears from his large eyes with a hand, Harry closed them and concentrated hard on what he 

usually looked like. His pale skin, rounded glasses, green eyes, hair that wouldn’t co-operate. The image kept flickering like static on a television, but he concentrated hard, fists clenching in the effort. His jaw locked, teeth grinding together with a scraping noise only he could hear.The dull ache in his bones began to fade, receding, drawing back. 

Suddenly, with a loud crack, Harry found himself sprawled over the floor, spreadeagled and sore. The first thing he did was look in the mirror shards, examine his hands, turn them over and examine them from every angle. His skin was back to its pale colour, there were no visible stripes anywhere.

“It worked,” he choked out. Never had such intense relief flooded through him. It was like a balm, soothing him. At that moment he could have melted into a puddle of joy and been content to stay there for a while, just soaking in the rays of an emotion elusive to him. 

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione. “Whatever just happened, just know that we will always support you.” Harry nodded and embraced her in a hug.

“Well, at least you have an awesome Animagus form,” chimed Ron. “A tall, striped, blue person. That is beyond cool.”

Sniffing, Harry nodded. This was a day he would never forget. Everyone’s eyes were shining with joy at how the day was back on track, though they were still shadowed by the memory of Harry’s torment. To all of them, it was something they never wanted to see again, never wanted to hear again, it would make their hearts shatter in two. Just the fact they they were all alive and well, albeit with a strange, unknown Animagus form.

Harry sat down in the chair, which in his opinion was becoming a the central focal point of the small room, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened to him. His limbs felt small, alien, strange to him after the comforting form of whatever his Animagus form was. Chuckling, Harry drew his knees up to his chest and sighed. Why was it always him who ended up in the rare, strange scenarios that others could only dream of? It would be nice to have normal luck, to have a normal day, have a normal Animagus transformation. But when his thoughts strayed back to the blue creature, he couldn’t help but smile. There was something in his face in that form that seemed so curious and intelligent, it intrigued him. As painful as his transformation had been, and with all the events that transpired, Harry wouldn’t change his abnormal form for the world.

A tingling sensation ran down his arms and he gasped at the sudden change. He groaned, not knowing what was going to happen. 

“You alright?” asked Seamus, who seemed to have been knocked out of his stupidly awestruck stupor. Harry grimaced and closed his eyes, before feeling an uncomfortable tearing running through his extremities. He closed his eyes and heard a crack beneath his as the poor, spindly chair splintered under his changing weight.

Opening his eyes, Harry slumped down, sitting in the middle of wooden shards. He had changed back into his Animagus form without meaning to, with no conscious thought or effort. It was uncontrolled, not something he had been planning to do. 

That it had happened out of his control scared him. He had no evident control over what happened, no clue whatsoever of what was going to happen. It was an alien feeling, one that he didn’t want to feel, one that was not familiar in the slightest.

Then there was the problem of trying to navigate Hogwarts with a rogue Animagus form. One that could potentially go off at any minute and out him, Ron and Hermione. That was something he would like to avoid at all costs, and the questions would be unbearable, not to mention dealing with the damn Ministry of 

Magic, who would probably take the situation as a sign he was turning into the next dark lord and lock him up in Azkaban for the next five years.

And, to say in the least, that was not something he was very inclined to experience.

Breathing deeply, Harry concentrated on his human form. Soon, his bones began to shift, popping back into place, melding back together like some intricate puzzle that could not and would not be messed up. Already, he was getting a bit breathy at the prospect of trying to hide it when he was so out of control of the entire situation, out of touch with his form.

Harry supposed it was just a matter of time and practice before he mastered his form, and was able to transform at will. That would be a glorious day, and Harry could already feel the anticipation throbbing under his skin, mixing with slight pieces of panic, moving together.

“So, what do you think of this situation?” Harry asked mildly, standing up and wrapping his hands around the small journal in his pocket. It grounded him, giving him something to hold onto while his thoughts were a jumbled mess and flying in every conceivable direction.

“We’ll just have to handle it.” Hermione’s voice was firm. Harry gaped. That was the most un-Hermione like answer he’d ever heard leave her mouth, and she’d said a lot of odd things over the course of their five year friendship. He was sure she would at least insist that he practice changing back and forth between both forms, to have some grasp at control.

“Why is that?” he asked.

“We are currently ten minutes late to Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, and this is going to tarnish my record, which I am not very happy about.” The Marauder’s minus Peter, burst out laughing at the panicked expressions on their faces, clearly having experienced the wrath of McGonagall themselves. Probably for pulling some idiotic and genius prank. And being late. That was not something he would doubt of the Marauders.

Hasty goodbyes were said and they left the Den, speeding along to Transfiguration class. Harry didn’t remember large chunks of it, as he was concentrating insanely hard on trying to stay human while surrounded by ridiculously chatty Gryffindors. He felt dazed during the reprimand that McGonagall sent their way, eyebrows lifting at Hermione’s second late beginning to class within a month.

Before he knew it, the day was over, and Harry had managed to not lose control. It was an invigorating feeling, the intoxication of success over something he couldn’t screw up.

That night, after a rough day, the three of them decided to go to the Room of Requirement and turn into their Animagus forms. Apparently Ron and Hermione were having a bit of trouble gaining complete and total control over their forms as well, as their minds and the animals instincts wrangled for control. The main reason they were going to the Room of Requirement instead of the Marauder’s den was because of the height issue. The roof in the Den wasn’t tall enough for Harry to stand up in, and he wanted to test out his Animagus form without having to bend down and gain an impressive crick in his neck.

They made it there without garnering any suspicious looks. Harry counted that as a triumph. Hermione flopped down on a cushion next to the bookshelf, looking expectantly at Harry.

“What?” he asked, shedding his outer robes in preparation. His clothes seemed to stay with his human form and did return when he turned back, but there was the small problem of becoming stuck in his jacket that he didn’t particularly want to happen again.

“Are you going to change? You look dreadfully uncomfortable.” Harry rolled his eyes. Typical Hermione. 

“Of course I am, just let me get out of these robes.” Finally, the devilish robes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. He closed his eyes, and next thing he knew he was towering over Ron and Hermione. A grin on his face, Harry began running around, before he realised something very uncomfortable that made him groan. He had no clothes on and was running around in the nude, probably why Hermione was laughing her head off. He wished for clothes and they appeared, large enough for him to slip into. 

They were on very quickly, his tail lashing about behind him, small pinpricks of light turning the colour he supposed was equivalent to a blush. He had to admit, it was very embarrassing to think that all the time he’d been in the Marauder’s Den he had no clothes on him. That was probably why the Marauder’s were snickering away behind their hands in their flat landscape.

Brushing the wrinkles out of the clothes, Harry grinned. As foreign as this body was, it felt familiar, like it was his all along and that he wasn’t suddenly five feet taller than normal. There was a flow about it, a rare, beautiful grace in the way it moved, the way it responded to HarryThe large roof above him gave him room to stand up and run around. “This I could get used to,” he grinned.

It felt like he was seeing the world in colour for the first time. His senses were far more open than before, his ears twitching at the smallest of sounds. There was something about this form, that he decided to call Blue Guy, that made him feel at him.

“Well, are you going to do more than just stand there?” Ron challenged. Harry ran his tongue over his teeth and felt that his canines were slightly more pronounced than usual. Harry smiled at the challenge.

“You up for a race?” he said, already getting in the position to run. He’d never willingly done a running race before, apart from that disastrous one when he was seven. That was not something he ever wanted to remember or experience again. This time it would be different. He was racing against a friend who could turn into a maned wolf, which he hoped could run fast. It would give him a challenge, not that the entire year hadn’t been a challenge already. It would make a welcome challenge.

Ron grinned, rather wolfishly, and Hermione shook her head in amusement as Ron changed with a crack. It was quite loud and would attract a lot of attention if Ron accidentally changed. With a yelp, Ron turned into the tall, red wolf and landed hard on the ground. Ron hauled himself up and took a moment to ground himself, yapping at Harry and shaking his head. Harry, who had somehow retained the ability to speak, turned his head towards Ron and burst out laughing. 

Ron’s tail, the bushy mass, was whipping side to side like a dog’s. He didn’t understand why he found it amusing, maybe it was because it was something someone would usually attribute to a dog, not a shape changing Gryffindor. Either way, Harry turned his eyes forward and thought of a racetrack. The room began rearranging itself into an impressive race track, with three lanes and a grippy red surface. It was like a glimpse of the running track Harry had once seen in a picture.

“You ready?” he asked. Ron yapped a yes of confirmation. “Well, then. Go!” 

They both shot off, but Harry could only feel the thrill of running so fast, being so free. The ground pounded beneath his feet, the momentum from his arms thrust him forward. His heart was pounding up and down, blood rushing in his ears. He’d never run so fast before, and it was invigorating.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw an orange blur speeding along, a streamlined creature, legs pumping hard. A grin overtook his face, long braid whipping around behind him as he pushed harder. An idea began forming in his mind as he bounded towards the finish line. With one final step, Harry launched off the ground. Flying through the air towards the end, his arms wheeled behind him. It was glorious. 

When he landed, Harry turned around and looked down. Ron had just crossed the finish line a second behind him. His technique of jumping was a success. Seeming to sense his elation, the room suddenly shot 

streamers out of the walls, victorious trumpets sounding all around the room. He punched his arm up in the air.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to do that, if I were you.” Harry slowly turned around and groaned. Leaning smugly against a pillar was Hermione, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Don’t think that I can’t race as well. I could gain quite a bit of speed with my wings, and you two were going dreadfully slow so it was easy to overtake.” Harry blinked in surprise. That was not anything he thought would ever come out of Hermione’s mouth, though it was a welcome surprise.

A crack sounded next to him and Ron shot up, looking rather dazzled with Hermione’s words. Harry sniggered. He could already see Ron starting to develop tiny feelings for Hermione. It was rather cute to watch the budding romance.

The room melded back into the familiar Room of Requirement, with the bookshelves and training dummys rolling back into their positions. Hermione, who still looked very pleased with herself, strode across the room, confident as can be, and grabbed a cushion. With a mighty grunt, she began dragging it across the room, obviously straining. Harry couldn’t comprehend why a cushion would be so heavy. His question was answered when it morphed into a small trampoline. Hermione set it down, obviously wanting a break. Harry took pity on her and bounded across the room. With one swoop he picked the trampoline up in one hand and hoisted Hermione up over his shoulder in the other.

“Harry!” she gasped, voice ragged with surprise. “Harry, please! Put me down.” Harry did, putting her gently in the middle of the floor, having to bend to half his gargantuan height to do so. He placed the trampoline next to her, wondering what on Earth she was going to do with it.

“As you wish, Madam. Blue Guy express is over and out.” Hermione rolled her eyes. Boys.

Hermione moved it to the left slightly and jogged a few meters back. Nobody said anything as she sprinted towards it, fierce determination glinting in her brown eyes. With a cry, she launched herself up and bounced off the trampoline, twisting through the air. Her face scrunched up in concentration before there was a small explosion of feathers. Hermione, now a Kea, plummeted towards the ground, wings flapping madly. Just before she hit it, and just before Ron was going to leap forward to catch her, she hovered. She squawked proudly and began circling around the room. Harry and Ron cheered, pumping their fists in the air.

The rest of the evening passed in a similar fashion. They experimented with their forms, seeing what they could and couldn’t do. Ron was very fast at running around the room, transforming into a scarlet whirlwind. He also seemed to have an exceptional talent for nipping at their ankles and scampering to the other side of the room before either Harry or Hermione could grab his tail. His wolfish snicker, at first amusing, became very annoying very quickly. Hermione also seemed to be very fast, perform loop the loops and scaring the crap out of Harry when she dove down towards the ground, pulling up at the last second. He also found it irritating when she perched in his mess of black hair, proudly hooting. Harry, however, was amazed at what the Blue Guy could do. He was fast, strong, very acrobatic, though Harry didn’t know how to acrobatics. His balance was also exceptional, leading his to do a jump on the balance beam the Ron made appear. He didn’t fall off, which was a big surprise, seeing as it was his first time on an actual balance beam. Sized up of course, for his exceptional height.

It was a glorious time, though Hermione was grumbling when Ron convinced her to fly through the hallways to distract Filch. It worked, and soon they were back in the Common Room, relaxed as they could be.

Page break. 

The next few months flew by. They had gained excellent control over their Animagus forms by then, and 

things were going smoothly. Harry’s bond with the Marauders, minus Pettigrew, had grown astronomically and he often found himself sitting in the repaired spindly chair in the middle of the night, just talking to them, finding things out about them and sharing his own feelings with them. It made his heart beat just a bit calmer, and swept away some of the panic and anxiety he felt going around everyday Hogwarts life.

In the beginnings of April, Harry had an idea. Not just any run of the mill idea, though. His classes with Umbridge were becoming agony, and he was quite scared of her ever since she shot that spell directly at him. It was a game of cat and mouse, with Harry being the mouse and Umbridge being the vicious, snarling cat. There was just one problem.

Harry was damn sick of being the mouse.

So, that night, Harry snuck out of the Common Room, without Ron or Hermione. It was a plan he wanted to execute on his own, and it wasn’t something he thought Hermione would condone in the slightest. The Blue Guy was a welcome part of him now. The things he was able to do when he was ten feet tall was astounding. The sheer strength he wielded made him do a double take. He was going to use that to his advantage.

And tonight, he was going to finally confront Umbridge about her wrongdoings, her appalling attitude and overbearing attitude. Constantly quashing the tendrils of anxiety and doubt sneaking around his mind, Harry stood in front of her door. He didn’t hesitate. No matter how many bed memories this room held this year, and there were a lot, if he hesitated he would run back to the common room with his tail between his legs.

Harry pushed the door open, cringing as it creaked, sending ominous sounds around the dim, pink classroom. The blackboard sat at the front of the classroom, notes from the last class of the day still on it. 

As he walked up to the small platform at the front of the class, Harry ran his fingers lightly over the well worn desks. His footsteps echoed. It was an eerie feeling, knowing what he was about to do. A shiver traveled down his spine, making his fingers tingle with fear. His mouth was turning dry, and he kept swallowing to make sure his tongue wouldn’t turn to lead at the last minute. 

He made it to a desk at the front of the classroom and sat down, leaning back and closing his eyes. He would wait for Umbridge to make her appearance. There was no need to say anything. The disgusting woman seemed to have a sixth sense, mainly for discovering when Harry Potter is sitting in the front of her classroom, seemingly waiting for something. After his detentions were finished.

“Mr Potter, may I ask why you are dozing off in my classroom?” asked Umbridge. Harry jerked upwards, his glasses falling crooked on his nose. He righted them and turned his head to look mbridge straight in her swampy, squinty eyes. She was standing at the top of the stairs that led to her office. She simpered at him, walking slowly down the stairs, heels tapping.

Harry stood suddenly. The bench toppled down onto the ground. A burst of confidence shot through him and he stepped out into the aisle, to face Umbridge.

“I was not dozing off,” he said. “Merely waiting for you to show your sorry hide.” Umbridge’s eyes bugged out, obviously surprised at his bravado. A satisfied smirk pulled at the corners of Harry’s lips but he suppressed it. Not yet. You haven’t won yet, Harry.

“My sorry hide? As far as I am concerned, I was just minding my own business when I heard you sit down in my classroom, nonetheless. You have no right to insult your Professor like that,” she hissed. Harry thought she sounded remarkably like a snake. Harry was sure she got along swell with Snape, when they threw their little ‘We Hate Harry Potter’ parties.

“I’m going to cut to the chase, Professor,” Harry stated, taking a threatening step forward. This was going to be good. “You need to change your opinions on Magical Creatures.” Umbridge smirked, like she’d seen this 

coming. Harry internally groaned. There was probably a better way to go about taking a high ranking Ministry Official down a peg than confronting her in her own classroom. He couldn’t go back now. 

“This is what you came here to talk to me about?” sputtered Umbridge. “You disturb me to talk about vermin? I thought you would have learnt after the first time you tried to confront me. That didn’t end too well, now, did it?” Harry ploughed forward. There was no stopping now. 

“Vermin? These are people you are oppressing! You seriously can’t think that you are justified in your opinions,” Harry fumed.

“I think we both have very different views of what oppression means, Mr Potter.”

“Can’t you see that your views are wrong?” Harry pleaded. Somehow he knew that this argument was going nowhere. His attempts were beginning to seem futile in his eyes, and he let it show, drooping his eyelids and sighing. Umbridge smirked, exuding confidence and being very sure of herself.

“I think you need to turn your views around, Mr Potter. Now, you can either leave now and think about what I have said, without a detention. Or, you can stay, continue this useless conquest, and leave with a week of detention.” umbridge looked positively gleeful at the thought, her wide mouth stretched into a toad like grin. Harry sighed. 

“Alright, I’ll leave.” And with that, Harry turned and scurried out of the classroom, robes flapping behind him like a protest to his fast pace. He heard Umbridge mumbling to herself about teaching people the right values. When Harry made it to the door, he slipped out and let out a satisfied sigh.

Phase One: Complete.

Phase Two of his plan involved going back into the Class. There was just one catch to it.

Page break.

Umbridge sauntered back to her office, hands running over her perfect brown curls. The Potter boy was sure to be reformed now, he had to be. Never had he just given up so easily. It was thrill to win something against him, to actually have the stupid, non-believer teenager agree with her opinions. For so long he’d been a headache, a fly she wasn’t quite able to swat. Now, if she could just get him to admit he was spreading treacherous lies about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning, then she would finally be satisfied.

A small creak made her turn around to see if Potter was still in her classroom. No one was there. She turned around and was about to go into her office, when she heard something drop down from the ceiling. For the second time she turned around.

And she screamed.

Page break.

Harry looked down at the pink clad toad and smiled. She was petrified of him. It amused Harry, in a way you could only be amused when you give an enemy the biggest fright of their lives. From his high vantage point, the classroom looked tiny, a playground for children. 

“What are you?” screeched Umbridge, picking herself up from the floor. Harry smirked and knelt down to match her height.

“Your worst nightmare,” Harry whispered. He chuckled inside. That was one line he’d always wanted to use. It did sound a lot more cheesy in real life. Umbridge, on the other hand, looked terrified. Her eyes were 

wide, protuberant, darting all over the place. She seemed to be sizing Harry up, seeing if she could take him on. Harry grimaced when he saw her draw herself up to her full height, chest puffing out. He sensed a speech.

“Just who do you think you are? You think you can come in here and say you’re my worst nightmare?” screeched Umbridge. Harry stood up to his full, imposing height and glared down at Umbridge, who seemed to become a little weak at the knees. She was quivering.

“Yes, I do,” replied Harry, stoic and steadfast. Umbridge walked up to him and craned her neck upwards to meet his electric green eyes. “You may not know it, but that is actually a figure of speech. I wouldn’t expect you to know it, though. Your ignorance is astounding to behold.” Harry felt rather regal the way he was saying things. It wasn’t something he would say no to feeling as well.

“My ignorance? Do you know who I am?” Her simpering tone she usually used with Harry was replaced with a screeching and screaming that wouldn’t be out of place coming out of a Banshee. As much as it amused Harry, it was beginning to grate against Harry’s sensitive ears. 

“Yes, I do, but I am sure that you are going to tell me anyway,” Harry muttered under his breath, quiet enough so Umbridge couldn’t hear. She didn’t, and the tirade started up again. Harry’s tail whipped about in agitation.

“I am Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and you will answer my questions, you filthy half-breed!” Harry flinched a little at being called a filthy half-breed. That was not something he ever wanted to be called, or have any other person ever be called again.

Determination began brooding in his gut and fury roiling around his brain, Harry narrowed his eyes, leaving no mistake that he was against everything Umbridge stood for. He was going to bring her down a few notches, knock her clean off her pedestal, let her know he wouldn’t stand for her degrading and humiliating Magical Creatures. Ever since first year, when Firenze had rescued him, Harry had had a soft spot for Centaurs and magical creatures. Now it wasn’t just a smouldering fire. It was raging.

And he was going to made sure she never said a bad word against Magical Creatures again.

“I don’t care who you are or how high up in the Ministry you are,” Harry growled, the threat evident in his tone. Umbridge gulped. “I have been watching you, and you’re perverted views have been grating on my nerves. And trust me,” Harry leaned in close to her face now, “You don’t want to get on my nerves.”

Umbridge was trembling now, fumbling for the door handle to try and escape into her office. Harry tried to stop her, but before he could she opened it and dove into her office, teeth chattering. Harry put his foot in the way of the door and wrenched it open, ducking down and walking through. The door banged against the wall and ricocheted back, hitting the doorframe with a mighty crash. The ceiling in the office was too low for him, so he was hunched over when he walked.

“Don’t try to escape before our little talk is over, Dolores,” Harry’s voice was low now, and it held the anguish belonging to Magical Creatures all over the world. It promised violence, not that Harry would intentionally hurt her. That was a line he wasn’t willing to cross, even though it sounded like he was going to.

“Who are you?” whispered Umbridge. The words were sour on her tongue as she moved behind her desk, picking something up in her hands. She held it behind her back. Harry took a large step forward, backing her towards the fireplace.

“I don’t really have a name, per say,” Harry said, trying to think of a title that would seem appropriate. “But I am more of a Representative. A protector, you could say.” This sounded right to Harry’s ears. A Protector. 

Not that the Magical Creatures couldn’t speak for themselves or protect themselves.

“A protector. Interesting.” Umbridge continued to walk backwards. A green powder spilled out her her hands and into the fireplace. “Ministry of Magic!” Umbridge cried, and emerald flames leapt up around her. She disappeared with a smile painted over her face, her triumph obvious, her gloating clear.

The roaring flames disappeared just as quickly as they appeared, leaving nothing but ash in the fireplace. Harry shouted out in frustration. That was not how it was supposed to go, she wasn’t supposed to get away. Harry groaned and shrunk back into his human form, rubbing his sore neck.

So much for staying undercover.

But with his track record, secrets were never secrets for very long.

Page break.

The great hall was buzzing, students discussing their grades, family misfortunes, or how their fathers would hear about things. Everyone seemed to be in an annoyingly happy mood, except one particular teenager sitting at the Gryffindor table with a dark, brooding countenance. His foul mood expanded around him when he stabbed at his cereal, imagining that it was a particular absent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Oh, that would be a satisfying thing to do.

His temper didn’t go unnoticed by Hermione or Ron, who were constantly whispering to him, asking if he was alright, asking what he was annoyed about. Harry didn’t say anything, just narrowed his stormy eyes and glared back at his cereal. 

It was so frustrating. Last nights escapade had failed miserably. In hindsight, Harry should have thought out a far better plan than just running in there head first without a shred of rationality. It made him furious that she had disappeared into a fire and was now absent, no doubt running some campaign to find the tall blue guy who broke into her office.

A flurry of owls flew into the Great Hall, feathers flying everywhere. Harry twisted around, searching for the flash of white that was Hedwig. She wasn’t anywhere to be seen, no letters for him today.

Scowling, he turned back to his cereal, resuming stabbing it. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched an owl swoop down, flapping its wings, before landing on the table next to Hermione’s bowl. She took a few Knuts out of her bag and put them in a small leather pouch tied around the owl’s leg. With a hoot, the grey bird dropped the Daily Prophet and launched into the sky, criss-crossing between other birds and finally shooting out of the hall.

Hermione unrolled the paper and immediately threw it over to Harry, anger evident in her eyes. Pages flew everywhere, all over people’s breakfast, but the front page landed perfectly in front of him. Harry’s eyes bugged out and his foul mood vanished in the blink of an eye. This was not what he was expecting. No, it was far worse.

Staring up at him was a picture of the Blue Guy, hand drawn. He was hissing, eyes glaring, looking menacing. It was the complete opposite of how Harry presented himself. The picture was of a feral creature. His fists clenched around the edges of the paper, tearing it slight, as he read the degrading headline:

The Protector: A Dangerous Unknown Creature

By Raymond Griffiths

Last night, a frantic and terrified Dolores Umbridge flooed into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Umbridge, who is a distinguished member of the Ministry and Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of 

Magic, wasted no time in warning us, the members of the Wizarding Public, that there is a feral new beast on the loose. Dubbing himself the Protector, this creature is gargantuan and has a dangerous temper.

The state that Madam Umbridge was in just proves how deadly this ‘Protector’ is. She is usually near unflappable, going about her duty with an iron spine and never taking no for an answer, always doing what is right for the good of the Wizarding world. She was a nervous wreck.

The Protector allegedly snuck into her classroom at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, confronting her about her ‘disgusting views of the Magical Creature community.’ Madam Umbridge’s views apparently irked this creature, which lead him to threaten her, so much so that she felt obligated to escape through the fireplace to safety. It is rare that a creature is able to get so close to one of our distinguished members, so do remember to be on the lookout.

The officially issued description of this dangerous creature is that he is around ten feet tall, blue striped skin with large green eyes and a long black braid down his back. He seems to favour Muggle clothing in dark blue and red. It is unknown how old he is, but we have guessed at around thirty from the way he spoke. For a more detailed description, you may cast your eyes up to the artist’s rendering at the top of the page.

It is to be noted that before Madam Umbridge was ambushed by the Protector, she had a short lived argument with the insane Harry Potter. It has been theorised that there may be a connection between the two of them, though this isn’t likely. The Protector admitted to watching Madam Umbridge and tracing her moved, which alone is a crime worth of imprisonment for a normal Witch or Wizard.

A reward of Fifty Galleons has been issued for information on this creature, with a reward of Two-Hundred Galleons for his capture. If you see this creature, which is unknown and unregistered, proceed with caution.

Madam Umbridge is currently recovering from shock in St Mungo's and will return to her teaching post at Hogwarts promptly.

Dread was pooling in his gut and he could feel his knees shaking. Now everyone knew his secret. Not in the exact sense of knowing a secret. They didn’t know that he was ‘The Protector’. They knew that the Blue Guy existed. That alone was enough to make him want to smash something against a wall. Preferably a desk. Or a vial containing one of Snape’s valuable potions. That would do. 

Unfortunately, Harry didn’t have access to a desk or valuable potions. He only had access to an ample supply of anxiety and panic. His Attack free months were shattering, his memories of those times fading. His ears began ringing, people’s speaking becoming muffled.

Harry was overcome with an overwhelming urge to escape the chatter of the Great Hall, to get somewhere quiet and shady where no one would ever think of looking for him.

The pressure was building in his chest, close to bursting point, the world whirled around him like he was spinning on a twisted, hideous merry go round. People’s voices faded, there was nothing more that mattered than escaping the twisting, shaking, screaming, shrieking vortex chasing him through his mind, taunting him, sucking him in deeper. Dark spots began speckling his vision, the ringing became so loud it hurt, a shrill noise that wormed through his head and into his bone marrow…

A sudden pain cut through his legs, the world was crumbling around him, his mind was crumbling, he was entombed underwater and couldn’t breathe.

This will pass. This will pass This will pass it will pass it has to pass please!

 

 

A sliver of light crept through his eyelids. Harry was aware that he was shaking uncontrollably, there was a sound of rustling leaves under his trembling limbs. Breathing heavily, Harry hauled himself to a sitting position and looked around, not recognising where he was. Trees pressed in on every side, amplifying the feeling of claustrophobia and hysteria.

Harry had no recollection of getting to where he was. Currently sitting in the middle of a small clearing in what was obviously the Forbidden Forest, Harry shivered. He felt so incredibly vulnerable just sitting in a dark clearing deep into the forest. It was like he was naked.

He hated it.

Still shaken from the attack, Harry stood up on unsteady legs, beginning to wander. There was no use in calling for help. The creatures in and around the forest would likely be annoyed at him for trespassing on their territory, and though Harry highly respected them, it would be a shame to end up on the receiving end of a Centaur’s arrow.

After a few minutes of wandering, Harry realised he was getting nowhere quickly. His legs just weren’t long enough to get him back to the castle quickly, and he had no idea which was was out. Shrugging off his outer robes, Harry quickly turned into the Blue Guy and promptly banged his head on a low hanging tree branch.

Cursing under his breath and rubbing his head, Harry picked up his robes and started treading in the direction he hoped was towards the castle. It wasn’t that he wanted to exactly go back. After an attack like that, he would gladly stay in this tranquil part of the forest, with quiet birdsong and only the rustling of leaves to disturb his recuperating state. No, it was the questions that would be asked when he eventually made it back. From experience, questions didn’t help. He would much rather prefer to be alone.

Harry ducked under another tree branch and let his thoughts stray back to the article.

Never would he have considered that a rash move on his part would result in a bounty being put over his head. It shook him to the core, and to him it felt even worse than the countless detentions he’d had with Umbridge. He glanced down at his hands and saw something he’d never seen before. 

The bioluminescent pinpricks that decorated his skin were pulsing a deep purple. It seemed to be quite urgent, seemingly warning him of something. Harry spun around, braid flinging out and wrapping around his neck. He put it back down and heard something crack behind him. His ears twitched, picking up minute sounds he would never have picked up in his human form. 

A barely audible nicker sounded from behind him, but before he could spin around to see what it was, something hard struck him in the back. He cried out and fell to the ground, landing hard. Winded, Harry heard a slicing sound and felt the vibrations of some great creature walking around him. His arms were jerked behind him and roughly tied together, the texture of the rope burning his arms. Only then was he flipped over.

He almost wished he hadn’t been.

Staring down at him was a furious centaur, humongous from his place on the ground. His hands were digging into the small of his back from where they were tied. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

But the abject terror he felt when the centaur drew its massive bow and nocked an arrow, pointing it directly at his face, eliminated all other instincts except to run. His legs lashed out, knocking the centaur in her side. It didn’t budge her, she just pulled the bowstring back further, the arrow tip an inch from his nose. Harry 

was panting in terror and exhaustion, his throat hoarse.

“HELP!” he cried. Now was not the time to worry about peace treaties and equality. He needed to escape. “SOMEONE, PLEASE!” The centaur, brilliant blue eyes narrowed, kicked him in his side with her hoof. His breath left him, leaving him gasping for what precious air he could get. Pain lanced up his side, shooting down his leg and into his neck. Harry was sure he heard something crack, though it may have been his imagination. He was delirious now, tears staining his face, desperate for someone to help.

“Be quiet,” hissed the Centaur. Her voice was low and dangerous, really promising violence, unlike Harry’s tone the previous day. She wasn’t coming to play. “You’re being pathetic, whatever you are.” Usually being branded as pathetic would grate on Harry’s nerves and cause him to grind his teeth. Now, though, he didn’t care what he was called, it didn’t matter. 

The pain in his side intensified as she nudged him, seemingly examining him. Harry groaned, black spots penetrating his vision again. He was going to black out. 

No. That isn’t going to happen.

Harry grunted as she put the bow behind her back and stored the arrow in a quiver she wore strapped around her torso. Harry attempted to get up, but she viciously kicked him. Again he was thrown to the ground. Blood was pooling by his side, mixing with his salty tears. I’m going to die.

His luck wouldn’t be able to get him out of this situation now.

The Centaur looked down at him curiously, before reaching down and hauling him to his feet, stronger than she looked. His hands were still bound tight.

“Where are we going?” Harry spat out blood as he asked this. He couldn’t help but think that he would be in a much more dire situation if he hadn’t changed into the Blue Guy. 

“You don’t need to know,” she said curtly. Harry hissed back at her, bearing his elongated canines. She ignored him.

Instead, Harry elected to pay close attention to her, looking for the time when he would be able to make a break for it. Like hell was he going to turn up in the middle of a Centaur camp bloodied and bruised. News had likely already spread about the ‘Protector.’ Now, harry could see that they didn’t need a Protector. He was so damn full of himself that he thought these people needed a person to represent them? Sure, they may need one for their political right, but they were able to fight for themselves, able to stand up for their own rights even though they kept getting denied those rights over and over.

“Well, what is your name?” he asked her, still paying close attention. She turned an appraising eye on him.

“Cobran is my name. My father liked snakes, so elected to name me after one of the fiercest. It am thankful for the name. It has aided me in rising through the ranks of our herd, and helped me gain a reputation.” Harry gulped as Cobran turned her head to look the other way, observing something far in the distance. Realising that this could be his only chance to make an escape, he bolted off through the trees. 

His heart was pumping in his ears, his balance hindered because of his hands being bound. It was a struggle, but the speed that the Blue Guy had was astounding. He was suddenly very glad for all the times he’d raced Ron in the room of requirement.

A scream of fury erupted behind him and thundering hooves pounded behind him, landing heavily on the ground, propelling Cobran forward. Not wasting a chance, Harry propelled himself off a log, leaping with one foot and flying through the air. His landing was awful, but he kept going, sprinting away from him.

A whistling sound echoed around the forest.

Next thing Harry knew an arrow was pinning him to a tree by his shirt.

Not to mention the infuriated Centaur glaring down at him, a second arrow nocked and ready to shoot.

“If you so much as move, I will put this through your head.”


	8. Centaurs

Harry changed his mind immediately. Surely there was a way to talk himself out of this sticky situation. Being pinned to a tree by an arrow wasn’t really his idea of a peaceful night. Cobran was breathing right down his neck, another arrow nocked in her bow, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

“Okay, okay,” Harry gulped. He moved his left arm up and yanked the arrow out of the tree. He turned around and handed it back to Cobran, trying to remain as calm as he could. Strangely, even though he was several feet taller than Cobran at the current moment, she seemed to be looking down at him. With a flourish, she returned the nocked bow to the quiver around her torso and snatched the arrow that Harry had in his hands back. He gulped.

She smirked, infuriated mood evaporating suddenly.

“Not going to try to run away now are you?” she said, mirth colouring her voice. It was obviously amusing that he’d even tried to flee. Harry shuddered. She had known he was going to run. And that he would fail miserably. At least she didn’t know he was actually human. From what Harry had gathered, he was some strange, unknown hybrid creature.

“No, I have now gathered that that would be an ill advised idea.” To Harry’s surprise, the female centaur chuckled. Arrows away, Cobran reached behind him and grabbed his braid. This surprised Harry for two reasons; one, he was so used to the braid being there that he forgot about it; two, up until that moment he hadn’t realised just how sensitive it was. She yanked it and he stumbled back. Now there was no option but to follow her, least he want the weird braid thing to cause him astronomical amounts of pain and discomfort. 

“At least you have some semblance of sense for whatever you are,” muttered Cobran, mostly to herself. Harry heard it. Cobran didn’t care. 

The path they took was rough. Harry stumbled along behind Cobran, often snagging his feet on roots or getting whipped in the head by low hanging branches (several of which he was convinced Cobran was responsible for). This was around the time that Harry realised they were very deep into the forest, mist curling around his feet like a snake waiting for prey. He gulped. He was in real trouble now.

“Quit your worrying, we’re nearly there. From then on it will be Magorian who judges you, not me. You don’t want to get on his bad side, I can tell you that much.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Harry said, curious. So far she had only been furious and amused at his plight. “It’s not like you want to help me is it?” Cobran made a face.

“The day I help you will be a sorry one. No, I am warning you. Magorian has a feisty temper on him, that much is sure. He made Firenze an outcast, which really didn’t come as a surprise. Still, it shocked some of us that he would alienate one of us,” Cobran mused. She was really quite talkative when she wasn’t holding an arrow at his throat, Harry thought. He also has to stop himself from regurgitating knowledge about Firenze being one the Divination professors at Hogwarts. That would put him under even more fire, which was not something he wanted to happen.

Soon they reached two trees, bent and twisted into an intricate archway. If he were to see it in other circumstances, Harry would have considered it interesting. Being as utterly terrified as he was, though, Harry only had eyes for the shadowy figures materialising out of the dark, hooves stamping and cracking 

through the undergrowth. He didn’t stand a chance.

Cobran raised on of her front legs and gave him a vicious kick in the small of his back. Harry tumbled forwards, crashing into the middle of the clearing. His hands were shaking now, and he made no move to stand from his sitting position. If he was being honest with himself, it was more of a fetal position, but there was no need to make himself any more terrified than he was. 

“Cobran, I see you have found this mysterious… ‘Protector’,” The voice that spoke was deep and carefully measured, full of disdain. “Did he put up a fight?” Harry heard a chuckle coming from the direction of Cobran, and then several from the general centaur crowd. 

“He did try to escape, Magorian,” she said. “A mistake that was soon corrected.” She patted her bow almost lovingly. The laughter was coming full force from the crowd now, pushing in on Harry and making him feel very small indeed, despite his large size. “I still don’t know his name. We will need to know that.” Magorian nodded and turned to Harry.

“Stand, would you? You’re doing us no good curled up on the ground like a foal having a temper tantrum.” Cheers came from the surrounding centaurs and Harry slowly picked himself up off the ground, trembling like a leaf caught in a harsh windstorm. He met Magorian’s eyes, which were cold and dark. The leader stood proud, at almost eight feet, towering over most the shadowy figures in the clearing but still smaller than Harry.

“Kick him!” someone jeered from the crowd. Harry stiffened and his eyes narrowed, picking out a male centaur with blond hair and sharp features. 

“We will wait to see what happens, Tracin,” Magorian said. He turned back to Harry. “There is something off about you. It’s like you’re veiled from something, such as my eyes, yet you aren’t intentionally doing it. Magic is everywhere on you, yet you are not human. At least I don’t think you are. I’ve only felt magic like that on Wizardkind, and we’re not that tolerant with them. Now, tell me your name.”

“H-Harry,” he stammered. Magorian seemed satisfied with one name.

“So, Harry, you are the one who claims to be a ‘Protector’ of Magical Creatures. I think that by now you will have guessed that we don’t need protecting.”

“I was just trying to help,” Harry began, but was cut off by Magorian.

“Don’t interrupt, young one. You are barely older than a foal, yet are speaking out about things you have no idea about and protecting people you have no experience with. Tell me, what do you think is the main issue here?” 

“Trust.” The answer was immediate. Magorian nodded. 

“That is correct. So, if you want us to trust you, why don’t you reveal who you really are?” 

Harry shook his head. There was a high probability of being turned against if he changed back, even if he was still an enemy of the Centaurs. Magorian raised an eyebrow and another kick landed on his back, knocking him to the ground again. He fell and picked himself off the ground, glaring at Magorian and Cobran. Well, if they wanted the truth.

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes and felt himself shrinking, the braid disappearing, his senses dampening. He was afraid to open his eyes to see their reactions. If the scandalised gasps and rigorous hoof beating were anything to go by, they were less than pleased.

“So, you’re a wizard. Harry Potter no less. Surprising.” The deep rumble of Magorian somehow managed to 

be heard over the yells of people calling for blood or about how he would lead the other humans back to their herd. That was actually something Harry would never dream of doing, but they didn’t know that. He would try to convey that, but doubted it would work. 

“I should think that you know that we Centaurs aren’t the biggest fans of you wizards. I would be...concerned if you didn’t know of the animosity between us and you wizards.” Utterly petrified, Harry was unable to anything other than nod weakly. Magorian smirked and began circling Harry, as if contemplating something. Once again, Harry gulped. His fate was uncertain, and he didn’t trust himself to say anything. Magorian snorted, bringing his hand down under Harry’s chin and lifting his face up. 

“There is something different about you, Harry Potter. I’ll admit, my first instinct was to teach you a lesson about wandering around in our forest. But the way you talked about us is interesting. You clearly misunderstand us as a race and yet you stand up for us. I think I would like to teach you a lesson of another kind. This is unusual for us as a race, but it has happened before.” Harry has absolutely no idea what Magorian was talking about. “Right, Cobran, get a bow from the shed and teach him how to shoot.” 

With that, Magorian signaled for the crowd to disperse, leaving only Harry and Cobran standing in the clearing within minutes. Harry was understandably stunned into silence, while Cobran was muttering to herself, eyebrows cutting a harsh line across her forehead. She was not a happy camper, Harry could tell that much.

“Come on, then,” Cobran growled, stomping away at a speed Harry had difficulty keeping up with. Shaking himself to his senses, Harry bolted after her, barely paying attention to all the roots beneath his feet. 

“Wait, why are you teaching me how to shoot? A second ago everyone was at my throats and yelling for me to be thrown out!” His voice raised in pitch, alarm evident. Cobran snorted and swished her tail, turning to face Harry.

“There is this old law or something that we teach people archery as a discipline and to help them respect us. It doesn’t make sense to do this, but Magorian decreed it, so there is nothing I can do to combat it. Here we are.” They arrived at a much smaller clearing, with hard, packed down ground. Targets littered with holes stood at the other end of the clearing, opposite to the intricate shed Cobran was now opening.

Harry turned towards her to question everything she’d just said. Before he could do so, a bow ta;;er him hit him in the chest with enough force to knock him to the ground. Breath knocked out of him, he glared at Cobran who was of course snickering at his predicament. Scowling, Harry hauled himself to his feet, not daring to question anything. Lest he break the tentative truce there seemed to be.

“Well, pick yourself up and get going, we only have until the morning. You’ll likely be in trouble for running into the forest, but who cares, right?” Cobran was irritated. She seemed to get that way over everything Harry did.

“The bow is a little bit big for me, actually,” Harry said. “Is there a chance that you have a smaller one?”

“The bow is a little bit big for me, is there a chance you have a smaller one?” mocked Cobran. 

“Well, I’m sorry, I was asking you a question,” snarked Harry, affronted. His confidence rose again once he realised that Cobran was unable to help his under Magorian’s word. At least there was that small comfort.

“Can you or can you not turn into a ten foot tall blue thing?” asked Cobran. Harry immediately felt stupid.

“I can be obligated to forget things sometimes,” he replied, before turning into the Blue Guy and snatching the bow up off the hardened ground. 

“Now would not be the best time to do that, Harry Potter. I tend to have a short temper and a hard hoof.”

“Don’t I know it,” muttered Harry under his breath. Cobran looked up sharply and Harry felt annoyance lancing under his skin, crawling around. She was just so annoying, with her short fuse and all. Harry supposed she could be gotten used to after some time, though. A lot of time. 

The bow felt odd in his hands, like he was inadequate or something. To be honest, he was. Harry turned to Cobran and was about to open his mouth to speak when she interrupted him.

“Don’t even think about opening your mouth. Right, you’re holding it all wrong. Look, like this.” 

And so began Harry’s first archery lesson. To say he was good at it would be a grossly miscalculated stretch. His larger frame definitely helped, but he was only just strong enough to draw the rigid bow right back to his shoulder. The one time he let himself get frustrated, Harry ended up snapping the bow clean in two. This earned his a kick from Cobran, which made him fly straight across the clearing and into a tree.

There was no was he would let his frustration show after that. Plus, the second bow was slightly more intricate and it looked far too precious to be snapped clean in two.

Around mid afternoon, Harry almost collapsed onto the ground, exhaustion coursing through his veins.

He woke up hours later, with the sun beginning to turn the sky grey.

Just before the sky began to turn pink, Harry and Cobran made their way over to a small clearing. Magorian was waiting patiently, his eyes cast to the sky above. He turned towards them and smiled a soft sort of smile, though Harry knew there was amusement concealed behind it by the way his eyes glimmered.

“Harry Potter. I trust your lesson went well and that Cobran taught you well.” Cobran was the one to speak up.

“He is atrocious with a bow and I doubt that he will ever become proficient at it,” spat Cobran. “Can’t someone else teach him?” Harry smirked. She sounded like she took lessons from Snape.

“There is always room for improvement, Cobran. Let us not be hasty. It’s his first night of many, and no one is expected to be good at something within two mere hours. If anything, he should be a pile of exhaustion,” said Magorian. “I should think you will be off to bed for a few hours of precious sleep.” 

Harry tried to ignore the tendrils of exhaustion creeping into his bones, but he couldn't’. Hs muscles were aching like a bitch. That was saying something, as the Blue Guy didn’t tend to become exhausted very easily. 

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Harry chuckled. Cobran gave him a venomous look, for how dare he speak to Magorian like that, and Magorian just looked amused. Suddenly Harry realised what was different. The level of animosity between them had shrunk. It was a nice change.

“I expect to see you back here tonight. Oh, and keep the bow. It suits you.” Magorian saw the two of them off, giving Cobran a very pointed look. She poked him in the small of his back, and they began to trod a well worn path, leading them to the edge of the forest. 

Hogwarts stood at the top of a hill, glimmering, creating an imposing and welcoming silhouette. Harry looked upon it with new eyes. That, and he was yearning for his bed.

“What do I do with the bow?” he asked Cobran, who was also staring at the castle. With a lot less wonder in her eyes though. It was more of a hateful curiosity, like a child wanting to win back the trust of a a cat who constantly scratched them.

“I don’t know. Keep it. Isn’t that what Magorian said to do?” Her voice was wistful. Harry turned to her, 

slowly looking down at her.

“Why do you hate me so much, then look at the castle with such longing?” he said softly, slinging the bow over his shoulder, figuring it would stay there with the rest of the clothes he wore. Cobran wrinkled her nose.

“Strange as it may be, I’ve always wanted to see the insides of Hogwarts. It is forbidden, though. There is nothing I can do. And it’s not like I’d get very far with all the bigots in the castle chasing me out with pitchforks and torches.”

“Not everyone up there is against you, you know that? My friend Hermione is quite fanatic about the rights of the oppressed. She just doesn’t have much tact about it. It’s part of her charm, y’know? It’s just something that has been bred into people from birth. I’ll admit, I hate it. It’s just disgusting how they can spout these lies about Centaurs and Mermaids and House Elves,” Harry sighed. He sat down and drew his knees up to his chest, gazing at nothing in particular. His mind was a whorl of emotions and passion, something that had been missing up until this moment.

“You’re a strange one, Harry Potter. You have a fiery temper, yet the next minute you are as meek as as a foal. I don’t know why, but I find myself intrigued by you. Don’t take that as an invitation to get on decent terms with me. You should be going, it is nearly morning. And remember this: You can’t tell a soul about any of this. If you do, Magorian will know.” 

With that, Cobran gave him a light tap with her hoof, sending him sprawling into the dew covered grass. Without so much as a second glance, she cantered off into the forest, leaving nothing but hoofprints. Harry picked himself up off the grass, wincing as the bow dug into his side. He shifted it and started moving over the grass, wondering why he didn’t wear bare feet on grass more often.

He stumbled his way up to the castle, transforming just as he reached the overhang covering the entrance hall door, where he shrank back into his normal, human form. 

He didn’t see an astounded figure watching from the window of a large cottage.

Page break.

“Look at all this. Is there nothing I can’t see? Little boy, look at all this. All this chaos and trauma. Is there nothing more beautiful than destruction. I can almost taste it on my tongue, smell it in this heavy, heavy air. These people need to die for us to get what we want, can’t you see? Look at all this, only a precursor for what it to come.”

“Look at all this, is there nothing you can see? Old man, look at all this. All this chaos and trauma. Is there nothing more ugly than destruction? I can almost taste it on my tongue, smell it on this heavy, heavy air. These people need to live so you can’t get what you want, can’t you see? Look at all this, only a precursor for what you will become.”

Page break.

Harry jerked upwards, heart beating a foreign rhythm. Someone had ripped back the curtains of his bed, sending blinding light directly into his eyes. To say it had given him anything less than a heart attack would be a gross understatement. Through his blurred vision, Harry could see a tall figure with red hair standing over him. He could also hear everything that was being shouted at him.

“Harry! You’re back! Where the bloody hell did you disappear to? We were up all night searching for you!” Harry grabbed for his glasses and slid them onto his face, blinking to get rid of the sleep in his eyes. Ron was standing over him, eyes half lidded, dark circles the colour of bruises sitting under his eyes. His red hair 

was doing a fairly good impression of Harry’s on a good day. 

“The last thing we saw was you disappear into the Forbidden Forest. We didn’t know what happened to you or where you’d gone. Dumbledore said the only thing we could do was wait. He did send Hagrid after you, but even he couldn’t find anything. Harry, I’m just glad that you’re okay.” Harry grimaced.

“Ron, I’m fine. You know me, always getting out of impossible situations. Just brush it off, it’s all good.” Surely that would calm Ron down.

“Yeah, well you can tell that to Hermione and McGonagall.”

Crap.

Page break. 

To say that Hermione and Professor McGonagall were frantic would be a gross understatement. McGonagall’s hair was out of its usually impeccable bun, stray strands everywhere, and Hermione’s eyes were red, little veins shooting throughout. Bags were under both of their eyes, dark as storm clouds.

When Harry walked in, Hermione gave a broken sob, rushing over to him. Her embrace was weak, as though she’d been up for too long and her strength had escaped her. The sob tugged on his heartstrings and a wave of guilt washed over him. If it wasn’t for his damn panic attacks, everything would be fine. No one would be crying, or worrying. 

Everything would be fine.

“Mr Potter,” said McGonagall, her voice strict. “I would like to know why you thought it was a good idea to vanish into the Forbidden Forest and not return until a day later. The stress you have caused the faculty is beyond reason and measure.” Harry nodded numbly, breathing becoming ragged, chest constricting. 

“Harry, calm down. Breathe.” Hermione’s sweet voice cut through the beginnings of an attack like a knife and he calmed, slowly sinking down to the floor. McGonagall was just standing there, unsure of what to do. Hermione whispered comforting words in his ears, Ron kneeling down behind him and rubbing circles on his back. 

“Alright, Hermione. I got it.” Satisfied that Harry wasn’t going to erupt into a panic attack again in the near future, she walked around in front of Harry.

“What happened, exactly? You just ran into the forest, and we couldn’t find you. And then you just appear in your dorm room like nothing happened!” Once again, her voice was frantic. McGonagall, pulling her ruffled self together, tucking strands of hair into the tight bun she always wore. Her face was concerned and perplexed, like she didn’t know what was going on or why it was happening.

“I don’t remember much, just that I tried to get out as quick as I could,” Harry said. He almost bit his tongue to keep from mentioning the centaurs, but he succeeded in fabricating a web of lies. “It was cold, and I felt I was never going to get out. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke it was nearing dawn and I was cold as could be. It was terrifying. Luckily, I walked in the right direction and saw the silhouette of Hogwarts at dawn. The relief I felt was beyond measure. Funnily enough, when I was going back to my bed, all I could think about was avoiding Filch. There you go. That’s my story. Nothing exciting, just lost in the forest, sure it’s happened before.” McGonagall’s lips pursed. Harry gulped.

“Yes, that is probably what happened, Mr Potter. Aside from that, we need to know why you actually went to the Forbidden Forest in the first place. And why you decided to flee the Great Hall looking like you’d seen a Dementor. Was is something to do with the newspaper?”

Harry steadied himself. Time for the truth to come out. The need to know truth. “I haven’t told anyone this, Professor, but I get bad Panic Attacks. Something triggered it, and next thing I know I was standing in the middle of the forest with no idea what was left and right.” Hermione nodded.

“I know we should have told you sooner, Professor. It’s not like me to keep secrets from you, I know,” she gabbled, trying to atone for what was a mistake in her eyes and also protect Harry from the wrath of McGonagall. Harry himself sat there wide eyed. Right now he was sure he would prefer a kick in the guts from a certain centaur than face McGonagall. Now that he though about it, the bruises that should be littering his body were absent. Surely when he turned back into Blue Guy, he would be a mess of purple and yellow. 

“Miss Granger, this does not concern you. This is a matter to be dicussed between me and Mr Potter. I appreciate you trying to aid him, but you know nothing about the situation at hand and therefore have no reason to interrupt the two of us,” lectured the stern Professor. Hermione’s fists clenched, shaking with barely contained rage. She bit her lip to keep from exploding at the Professor who was daring to threaten her friend. Who would dare to stop her from coming to his defence.

“Professor.” This time it was Ron who interrupted. “I don’t think that questioning Harry right now on the situation is the wisest thing to do. He has just told you he suffers from Panic Attacks and you plow right on the lecture Hermione on defending Harry. I think we should leave.” 

Almost immediately, Ron and Hermione came to Harry’s defence, leaving the worried side of McGonagall and coming to the aid of Harry. It showed how deep their friendship flowed, how strong their bond was. In some opinions, it would be reckoned stronger than Vibranium. 

“Weasley, I did not ask for this!” 

“And neither did Harry, so stand down.” 

“What I just saw is a standard sign of Magical Depletion, nothing to worry about. Mr Potter is feeling these things because his Magic is being used too much. It is an easy fix. What I need to know is why you felt it was necessary to cause us all the unnecessary worry and distress. One day you were missing, Mr Potter. One entire day. You should have seen the faculty, running around like chickens without heads. So, please tell me why you did that and then I will let you go and have you go to the Hospital Wing for the treatment you need.”

Harry abruptly stood up and walked out of the room.

Page break.

“You do know that McGonagall’s going to have it out for us now, mate. We just walked out of there.” said Ron. Harry groaned. He knew this fact and it was a hindrance to his diabolical plans. Oh, who was he kidding. Sneaking out to see the Centaurs and learn archery was hardly diabolical. At least in his eyes.

“I know, I just couldn’t listen to that anymore. Does anyone here actually know what a Panic Attack is?” 

“Apparently not,” said Hermione huffily. This time she was carrying so many books her arms were as full as her bag. She couldn’t even be bothered to correct Ron on not using McGonagall’s title. That in itself was a testament of how much seething anger she was hiding underneath her skin. “It would be nice if they could just listen for once.”

“Transfiguration is going to be a bitch,” groaned Ron. Hermione muttered a half hearted “Language.”

Luckily Care of Magical Creatures was first.

Page break.

Hagrid invited the three of them to tea that night, asking them while everyone else was preoccupied with trying to see the thestrals for the second time that year. Of course, they immediately accepted, any excuse to be away from the castle where roaming McGonagall’s could catch up to them.

Harry was silent through transfiguration, listening in on conversations, most of them still tittering on about ‘The Protector.’ There was a stunt Harry wished he’d never pulled. McGonagall avoided them the entire lesson, not even calling on Hermione once.

After the crazy day, not to mention Heir of Slytherin level glares and stares, Hagrid’s cottage was a welcome refuge.

Ron was the one to knock on the door. A booming bark sounded from the other side of it, deep and warm. Hagrid’s voice followed suit, calling Fang down and telling him it was just Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Hagrid opened the door with a wide smile on his scruffy face, warm black eyes crinkled. “You have no idea how good it is to see you guys. It’s been far too long, come in.” They bustled in to the cottage and sat down by the smouldering fire, apparently an appropriate end of winter fire. Harry gazed at the smoke coiling lazily upwards, disappearing into the soot covered chimney.

Clattering plates knocked him out of his stupor. Harry jerked up to see Ron and Hermione gingerly accepting what appeared to be a mud patty from Hagrid’s offered plate. Harry reached for one, grabbing a plate in the process. Hagrid poured the tea among warm silence, and they each picked up a chipped floral cup, comparable to a bucket.

“So, have you read that news article of the protector?” asked Hagrid. Harry spit out his tea, spraying it all over Hermione. Ron went bug eyed.

“Yes, we have, Hagrid,” said Hermione smoothly. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I want to make conversation with some people who actually are willing to talk about, rather than cower in the corner in fear of what Umbridge will do to them.” The three of them visibly relaxed, resuming tea sipping. The taste actually wasn’t that bad, nowhere near as awful as the acrid brew they sipped last time Hagrid asked them round for tea.

“Well, then, what is your opinion?” asked Harry.

“I think he did a good think, confronting Umbridge. Someone needed to do it.”

“You think that?” 

“Of course I do. That takes courage, it does. And it doesn’t help that I thought I saw him running up the lawn to the Entrance Hall early this morning. There is just so much to talk about!” Hagrid was getting into it, not noticing how Ron and Hermione turned their curious eyes on a shrinking Harry. “And then he shrunk into someone else! How does that happen, I wonder. Amazing thing, magic.”

Harry once again spat out his drink. Now he was in real deep trouble. Hermione eyes were flickering between Harry and Hagrid, clearly trying to figure something out. Ron just sat there dumbfounded, the same look that crossed his face when someone told him he needed to stop eating as much as he did.

“This figure it turned into, Harry, looked remarkably like you from behind. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you, now?” Hagrid’s tone was completely curious like a small child examining how a spider walked with so many legs.

“NO! Nothing, nothing at all,” Harry coughed, slamming his teacup down on the table and standing up. Tea sloshed everywhere. Hagrid looked confused but then his eyes brightened. 

“You do know something. Go on, tell! I won’t let a soul know,” Hagrid enthused, smiling. Harry sighed. He couldn’t just go around spilling secrets to everyone who figured things out. Then again, who was going to ask Hagrid if Harry was this mysterious blue figure? Surely, telling one person wouldn’t hurt. Plus, it would divide the secret once more, so not as much pressure rested on their shoulders.

Harry glanced over to Ron and Hermione, both glaring at him, daring him to say something. 

So, against his better judgement, Harry did.

“I am the blue guy.” 

There was a moment of silence. Then Hagrid leapt up, massive frame upturning the table, sending uneated mud pie things flinging into the wall. The wall was dented. The mud pies were fine. Hermione squawked, flinging her wand up and stopping the table from winding both herself and Ron.

“I knew it! But how can this be? Come on, you have to tell me now.” Hagrid oozed excitement and joy. Harry sighed once again and told himself that he could do this. 

“You may want to stand back for this.” All three of them did, even though Ron and Hermione knew what was coming. Harry closed his eyes and shot upwards.

Page break.

Hagrid’s questions never ended. 

By the time the three of them made it back to Gryffindor Tower the sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon, staining the clear sky a brilliant scarlet. 

It took hours of waiting for Ron to eventually fall into a restless slumber. When he did, Harry shot upwards, pulling back the hangings and sneaking out of the room. Donning his invisibility cloak, Harry opened the door and slipped out into the corridors. It never failed to fascinate him how amazing the Hogwarts was at night. He’d often heard people say that it was frightening, but to him, there was a sort of peace in the place, with all the slumbering portraits and darkness filling up every available space. The forest would be the same, but filled with something different. Dread and fascination, pulling him closer. 

That, and the Centaurs expecting him back.

He made it out to the entrance Hall with no problem. That was, until he realized that the door was locked. The mighty entrance, usually so conveniently open, was locked up tight. 

Looked like he wouldn’t be getting out that way.

Cursing under his breath, Harry retraced his steps, careful to tread lightly. You never knew when a particular mangy cat could be stalking around the castle, sniffing out sneaky students.

A few corridors back, Harry saw his opportunity. A slightly ajar window rested in the wall. Silently cheering, Harry made his way over and glanced out of it, gauging the distance down to the ground. 

His eyes bugged out. There was no way he would ever make that jump. The ground lay far below, a carpet of green so tantalisingly out of reach. Then, a bright idea sparked in his mind. 

Tying the invisibility cloak around his shoulders, Harry turned into the Blue Guy and jumped out the window without a second thought. The fall was shorter than he expected, and the impact knocked the air out 

of him more than he was willing to admit. Spitting grass out of his mouth, Harry hauled himself to his feet and made a mad dash towards the forest, taking time to wave at an astonished looking Hagrid through his cottage window. 

Harry scooted into the forest, skidding to a halt roughly ten meters into the treeline. It was dark, with little noises echoing all around him. His ears, high up on his head, twitched at every sound and Harry couldn’t help but feel like something or someone was watching his every move.

Shaking it off, Harry looked around at the trees and recognised the path that led the way to the Centaur clan deep into the forest. He started jogging it, gentle, small steps, but very quickly found this to be boring. Looking around for something more fun, Harry’s eyes landed on a tree to his right. Stopping to think for a minute, Harry decided not to think. He was here, no one was watching, he could do it.

One jump later and Harry was sitting in one of the branches. He’d underestimated how scratchy the small twigs were, and how they were everywhere. He’d also forgotten that his bow, slung over his shoulder as it was, wasn’t really the best for leaping from tree to tree. So, too stubborn to get down and just walk the rest of the way, Harry put the bow in his hand and made a jump of faith to the next tree.

He made it.

Just.

Hanging on by his fingertips, Harry pulled himself up, a wild grin on his face. This was going to work, whether fate liked it or not. The last time he’d had so much fun was when...he couldn’t remember. That was something that needed to be worked on later. For now, tree leaping was at the forefront of his mind.

So, Harry set off on his grand adventure, leaping from limb to limb and often missing completely and acquainting his face with the stick covered ground. To add insult to injury, his torso was kicking up a storm, bruised and battered. This didn’t deter him. If anything, it spurred him onwards.

Finally, Harry made it to the clearing in the middle of the forest, with Centaurs milling around. There was a tree in the middle of it, just within jumping distance. Harry, of course, decided to go for it.

The next thing anyone knew, there was a ten foot tall blue guy moaning on the ground of a clearing. 

Then he was kicked into a tree by Cobran.


	9. Gearing Up

Harry coughed up ash as someone violently yanked him backwards out of the fireplace. He neck snapped back, waves of pain lancing out and dancing through his bodies. He landed roughly on the pink carpet. Ash flew around him, settling on every available surface, painting the office, and Harry, grey. The world was blurry, out of focus. Harry squinted to see what was going on, but couldn’t deduce much. 

Rough hands shoved his glasses back on his face, with no care or regard for if they would hurt him. They did. Grimacing through the pain, Harry blinked and his throat went dry when he saw just who was standing over him.

With ash decorating her face and her left eye twitching, Umbridge made a deranged picture. Her hair was unraveled and her fingers were twitching, as if she was itching to get her hands around Harry’s throat. She took one step forward, and Harry scooted back, propelling himself across the floor until he was pressed hard against the soft pink wall. Umbridge glared at him, swampy eyes radiating madness and a desire to see justice done at her hands.

“So,” she spat, still moving toward Harry, trembling with barely concealed rage. “So, you think you can just walk in here and contact someone? You obviously needed to see them so badly, didn’t you?” Slowly, she bent down and put her disgusting, toad-like face in front of Harry’s, gazing deep into his eyes.

“You have no right over who I contact,” Harry rasped. Umbridge shrieked in rage, pointing her wand at a plate of a kitten. An awful brown light shot out of her wand and shattered the plate. The kitten mewled pathetically from the floor. Harry gulped, and knew that if Umbridge thought he deserved it, that would be him.

“Wrong. I have every right over who you contact. Unlike me, you have friends in low places, Potter. And I swear, one day you are going to realise this. But by then it will be too late.” Her hands slowly moved forward and began to snake around Harry’s throat. The ash was swirling around them, grey evening light filtering in through the large window behind Umbridge. It outlined her in a frightening manner.

Harry glared at her. “Keep telling yourself that.” Rolling out of the way, Harry drew his wand from his robes and pointed it at the deranged teacher. Her hands lashed out, nails gouging deep channels in Harry’s cheek. Yelling in pain, he scrambled to get behind the desk and have cover while she stalked towards him, cover to try and realize what a mistake he’d made.

The vision of Sirius was still branded onto the inside of his eyelids. His screams still echoed in Harry’s ear. Voldemort’s burning glory hung in the back of his mind, an ever constant reminder that Sirius was going to die if he didn’t do something about it. Why he couldn’t just send a letter to Grimmauld Place to see if Hermione was right about it being a trap was beyond him. But then again, if it wasn’t a trap, sending a letter would take far too long. In reality, the only real option was to have used Umbridge’s fireplace. Why the others hadn’t alerted him to her coming was beyond him.

“Harry, calm down, you can do this.” His breathing was ragged, scratchy and uneven, a sound that he always associated with peril. Trembling hands wrapped around his wand, which was burning, almost eager to get out there and show Umbridge who was right in this situation. Eyes closed, Harry breathed deeply, calming himself. 

Then he opened them. 

Umbridge was standing right above him, sickly grin plastered over her face. Her stubby wand pointed right at his face, tip glowing, magic crackling around the destroyed room. Terror dashed through him, but Umbridge couldn’t see past the tip of her nose. 

Harry hastily directed his wand at her feet, screaming a blasting spell. The stone floor exploded outwards, rubble and debris everywhere. Umbridge screamed when she tumbled over, falling to the ground. Harry staggered upwards, squinting through the dusty room. His thoughts moved to Sirius. This was urgent. He had to get to the Ministry, to the Department of Mysteries.

As he made his move to run towards the door, it exploded open, Malfoy sauntering through with Hermione at wandpoint. Harry froze. Hermione was whimpering, unsure of what to do, her wand clutched in Malfoy’s hand. Harry’s eyes widened as the rest of the inquisitorial squad followed, each person who said they would alert him disabled and at their mercy.

A roar of fury came from behind. Harry whirled around, discarding his robes as he did so. Umbridge rose up from the rubble, shaking with anger. Her eyes were mad, wide and unfocused, yet set directly on Harry. She rose her wand to Harry, but her hand was shaking.

“I know what you’re up to, Potter. You were contacting Dumbledore, weren’t you? Contacting him to sneak out of the castle and bring him back to usurp me out of my position.” She seemed almost hurt at the prospect. “Well, I have your little friends now. So, unless you want me to hurt one of them, you will stand down and tell me what you’re planning. 

She shot forward, grabbing Luna from a Slytherin’s grasp. Umbridge covered Luna’s mouth with one ashy hand and dug her wand into Luna’s neck. Screams of fear tried to make it past Umbridge’s hand but failed, leaving Harry with only one choice.

“Drop your wand or she will hurt.” Harry gasped. He knew Umbridge was a sadistic little toad, but to go as far as harming a student other than Harry. That made his blood boil, deep, black hatred roiling deep down in his gut.

He dropped his wand to the ground. It clattered around, drawing Umbridge’s attention. Luna crumbled to the ground, gasping for breath. Ginny began to struggle, trying to reach her friend. Goyle was having none of it. He stood on her toe and sneered when she cried out in excruciating pain.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” simpered Umbridge. Slowly, as if she was trying to illustrate a point, she sauntered over to where Harry was standing and dug her wand into his throat. Still he stood there, straight and proud, letting the hate whirl around inside him. All Harry wanted to do was to get to the Department of Mysteries and rescue Sirius from Voldemort’s grasp.

This was a hindrance, to say in the least.

“Not hard at all.” He spat at her feet and she pulled it back in disgust, pink shoes now an ashy grey. The wand dug into his throat even harder. Harry gagged, the acrid taste of bile climbing up his throat. Umbridge hissed in his ear, a sound somehow even worse than a snake.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

“Well, you aren’t me, are you?” Harry gasped as the wand sent pulses of electricity dancing down his body. He began convulsing to the beat of a drum that wasn’t his own. The screams of his friends begging Umbridge to stop were muffled by the increasing pain of the electricity washing over his skin.

“I’ll get the answers out of you eventually. I can keep this up all day.” Harry hissed in response, attempts at 

kicking Umbridge futile. Through his haze of pain he could see everyone leaping forward, desperate to claw at Umbridge, their yells ripping their throats raw and bloody.

“Wait! I’ll tell you the plan!” Hermione shrieked. It cut through his torture and he was dropped to the ground. Blood entered his throat and he coughed it up, spitting it up, all over the floor of the decimated office. Limbs still convulsing from the waves of electricity, all he could do was lay on the ground and listen.

“Yes? Malfoy, let her go. I want to hear this.” Hermione stumbled forward, resisting every impulse to curse Umbridge into oblivion, to make her feel a million years of pain. She resisted the urge to rush to Harry’s side and soothe him, to stop him from twitching and to hold his hand.

Instead, she stood tall. Refusing to be intimidated by the pink toad in front of her. Behind her, Malfoy was whining about not getting his chance, a petulant sound that Hermione would very happily block out.

“I knew one of you would crack eventually. Just couldn’t bare to see your saviour in pain, could you? Works every time.” Hermione seethed on the inside, forcing herself to say something nice rather than spitting acid at the despicable excuse for a human stood in front of her.

“It’s in the forest,” she began.

“What is?” Umbridge was eager. Hermione shivered, conscious of the blood slowly trickling down the back of her neck.

“The weapon we’ve been building all year, with Dumbledore. It’s in the Forbidden Forest.” She closed her eyes, hoping against hope that Umbridge would take the bait. 

“Well, take me to it! I want to see it, before I destroy it and Dumbledore’s reputation. Oh, and pick up Potter, would you? He’d being pathetic. I want to see his face while I destroy all of his hard work.” Umbridge stalked towards the door, wand clutched in her arm, practically crowing her apparent victory.

Hermione rushed over to Harry and slung his arm over her shoulders. Heaving him up, she managed to get him to his feet. Once again, his breathing was ragged, unbalanced. He smiled softly at Hermione, a watery smile. Hermione returned it, before staggering out of the stifling room into the deserted corridor, where Umbridge was waiting. Her glee was sickening, making the atmosphere heavier than it had any right to be.

“Well, hurry up then. I don’t have much patience left, and I will gladly take it out on Potter again.” Hermione hurried forward, dragging a stumbling Harry along behind her. Every time they turned a corner or descended a floor, Hermione was desperately trying to come up with a plan. 

“Hermione,” Harry whispered, voice so quiet she almost couldn’t hear it. “Hermione, I have a plan. Leave it to me.” The determination on his face made Hermione keep her mouth shut. The only the she saw that expression on his face was when he was about to pull off a crazy stunt that somehow managed to work. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and trusted Harry with this one.

It was her only choice.

Page break.

By the time they made it to the edge of the forest, Harry’s twitching had abated. Most of the ash covering him was long gone, having filtered off when they were walking down to the castle. Not a word had been exchanged about what they were going to do when Umbridge realised that there was no weapon. 

The three of them stood on the dew covered grass. Hermione still and somber, Harry panting and Umbridge, the sickening creature, rocking on the balls of her feet, like a child gleefully opening a new present under the tree. The moon shone high above them, casting strange shadows over the grass. The shadows 

themselves looked like they were going to reach forward and snag their ankles and then drag them down into the fiery pits of hell.

Harry shook his head. Now wasn’t the best time to be imagining those types of things. He knew this forest well. Over the past month, he’d learnt many things with the Centaurs and become kind of friends with Cobran. If anyone was going to know this section of the forest well out of the three of them, it was Harry. 

So why was he scared?

Perhaps it was the monster standing mere feet away from him. The scars on the back of his hands tingled. He shivered and turned to Umbridge, suppressing the need to vomit.

“Well, am I showing you or not?” Umbridge stopped rocking on the balls of her feet and turned to face him. 

“Of course you are, silly boy. I’m just thinking of what I could do to the beasts that dwell within the forest if we run into them,” she enthused. Harry felt a stab of fear in his heart. He could do this. He was Harry Potter, best damn Gryffindor there was and trouble magnet. And for once, he was the man with a plan, a decent one. Admittedly it was one that relied on others. Nevermind that, he thought.

“Show us the way, Harry,” Hermione shivered, her thin summer cardigan not doing much for her. Resolutely, Harry nodded.

With that, they took their first steps into the forest.

Umbridge sent light ahead every few meters, ball of glowing brilliance hovering over the well worn path they were treading. Harry shook his head. If only she knew.

“Are we nearly there?” she asked impatiently, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. Her pink clothes were ripped and shredded, embedded with ash. Harry shuddered. If he met her in a dark alley, he would be running for the hills.

“Around five minutes,” he muttered. Umbridge skipped on ahead, giggling. Harry hung back and hastily whispered into Hermione’s ear, “When we reach the clearing, go in front of Umbridge and say that we have reached the wrong spot. Just make sure that she doesn’t turn around.” 

Hermione nodded, an inkling of Harry’s plan beginning to form in her head. The trees around her seemed to be jeering at the two of them, leaves whispering as a phantom breeze laced through them.

Harry knew everything depended on this. If he could successfully scare Umbridge, they would have enough time to get away, and he would be able to escape to the Ministry of Magic. If his plan worked, then he would have everything he wanted.

The path opened up into a fairly large clearing. It was too dark to see it, but the surrounding it had intricate carvings running up and down the lengths of their trunks, twisting and turning. The branches slithered together, linking up and forming a cover over the top of the clearing. The ground was well worn, leaves scattered everywhere and barely concealed hoof prints covering the ground.

In the middle of it, Umbridge stood. Stock still, her eyes were wide as she took in everything with a sense of morbid awe.

“So this is where you keep everything,” she whispered. Harry nodded at Hermione to move forward and distract Umbridge. She zoomed around the front of Umbridge and began talking.

“Yes, this is the place. It will just take a minute for us to organise everything. All you need to do it press your hand to that tree over there, it will activate the weapon. You won’t be disappointed.” The words were 

acid in her throat. To be simpering up to Umbridge was one of her worst nightmares. It often plagued her dreams.

Behind Umbridge, Harry closed his eyes and shot upwards, drawing his bow and arrow. Hermione gasped, realising what he was about to do. She nodded, before stepping back to give Harry a clean shot. She knew he wasn’t aiming to kill.

Just to petrify.

“Umbridge,” Harry said, not even bothering to change his voice. The vile woman, stupidly believing Hermione’s deception, took her hand off the trunk of the tree and swiveled around, ready to talk to Harry Potter and berate him for not addressing her with the appropriate title.

When she saw the Blue Guy, all the blood drained out of her face.

“What are you doing here!” She screamed, pointing a trembling finger at Harry. He advanced forward, aiming the arrow towards her foot. Umbridge’s babbling was getting on his nerves, perhaps he could shoot her in the foot instead of beside it? It wouldn’t be hard to pin it down to a slip of the wrist, he was new to archery after all. Banishing the dark thoughts from his head, Harry loosed his arrow.

It struck home, right beside Umbridge’s foot. The toad screamed, jumping back and hitting her head on a knot on the carved tree trunk behind her. 

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Harry asked, enjoying having the upper hand over Umbridge for once. For out here, there was no fireplace for her to disappear into. Just a clearing with significant importance to the Centaurs. 

“Figured what out?” screeched Umbridge, backing up. Harry advanced.

“I’ve been here all along. All year. I am Harry Potter. Can’t you hear that my voice is the same? Merlin, you really are as smart as a flobberworm.” Harry grinned when Umbridge, flustered and startled, shrieked in denial. If there was one thing she was scared of, it was the ten foot tall blue person standing in front of her, another arrow nocked and ready to fire.

Glancing behind Umbridge, Harry saw a familiar silhouette making her way towards the three of them. He grinned, something that scared Umbridge even more. Then she said the worst thing she could have at that current moment.

“At least there are no half breeds here.” Harry winced as Umbridge was immediately flung across the clearing, flying into a tree. Cobran galloped out, furious as Harry had ever seen her. The floor rattled with the force she was putting on it. With two glances between Harry and Hermione, she deduced that they were in the good.

“Half breeds?” sneered Cobran, walking towards Umbridge. Said person was bust regaining her breath, heaving on the ground, horrid pink clothes now shredded beyond repair. “You think that I am a half breed?” 

“I’m only stating the truth, you filthy half breed,” Umbridge hissed. Cobran’s nostrils flared as she lifted Umbridge up by the throat, easily carrying her off the ground. Harry put the arrow back in his quiver when he noticed another shadowy figure making itself known. 

Magorian himself walked calmly into the clearing, eyes roving over the scene. He seemed unsurprised about Harry, being familiar with him, but Hermione and Umbridge threw him for a loop. Harry gasped at seeing the leader of the Centaurs in the clearing with them. Then again, he had a connection with the land which they stood upon, so if there was a situation going on he was the first who was going to know. From the disgusted look on his face, Harry realised Magorian know who Umbridge was.

“Cobran, put her down,” he instructed, voice as firm as steel. Reluctantly, Cobran dropped Umbridge with a flourish. She was spluttering on the ground, about to make more remarks about how she was above them and they had no right to treat them the way that they did.

That was, until Magorian made his way over to her.

“I’ve heard of your deeds, Dolores Umbridge.” His voice was deep and rumbling, surprisingly calm. The wind began to intensify, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence or not. “They are popular tales among the ones at our camp. As are the things that we would love to do to you if we ever managed to get our ‘filthy’ hands on you.” His tone was mocking, and he stood back as Umbridge huffed, heaving herself to her feet. Her throat was red, handprints marking it like a particularly morbid tattoo.

“When you get your hands on me?” she cackled. “Whatever makes you think you could do that? I am a more powerful being than you, about all of you filthy vagrants who should be exiled to the deepest reaches of Hell!” 

Magorian raised an eyebrow.

Harry and Cobran both snickered. Then glared at each other, because how dare they find the same thing funny.

“I think you will find that those particular words have no affect on me, human. Though, there are others who are here who would get riled up at just hearing them. I leave them to your mercy.” With that, Magorian walked away into the trees, tail swishing lightly behind him. Umbridge raised an eyebrow before screaming at Magorian.

“Incarcerous!” Harry moved like a blaze, intercepting the spell. It caught around his legs, snaking upwards around his torso, unbearably tight. Umbridge smirked, regaining a shred of her confidence. Harry began gasping for breath when he felt hand tearing the ropes off of him. Hermione and Cobran both stood above him, anger and revenge all he could see. In fact, he could feel it. Umbridge really was stuffed now.

Harry burst upwards, the ropes falling to the ground, useless now that he was free. Dark offending lines criss crossed his body and he glared at Umbridge. But now was not his place to step in. He’d had his revenge. Now was the time her both Hermione and Cobran to turn into raging Banshees.

“How dare you!” Umbridge laughed in the face of their fury.

“How dare I? You both allied yourself with half breeds. In fact, your blood is filthy enough that you could be one anyway.” Hermione jerked back as if slapped. Cobran’s eyes narrowed as she rushed towards the offending flea impeding her vision. Before she reached Umbridge, Magorian called a halt to everything going on in the clearing.

“This needs to stop now. Umbridge, how dare you shoot a spell at me and have Harry intercept it--”

“You know Harry?” exclaimed Umbridge. “Oh, this is too good. You’ve truly lowered yourself to a new low, Potter!” That was what set Magorian off. 

Before anyone could blink, Umbridge was lying on the ground, unconscious. Blood was pooling on the ground around her head, and Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to feel sorry for her. She was the one who had it coming. He glanced around and noticed many more centaurs standing sentry in the shadows. Their hooves were beginning to stomp impatiently, as if they couldn’t wait to get their hands on Umbridge.

“Take her away. Return her to the castle in the morning. Surely she will have learnt her lesson by then,” Magorian stated, talking to the centaurs surrounding the clearing. “Oh, and Harry. I apologise for you having to go through that, with the spell and all. It was meant for me and I should have taken it.” Harry 

snorted.

“Damn you and your pride. I took the spell for you and I’m bloody proud of it. I stopped you getting hurt, so don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty for taking it.” Harry didn’t mention how the marks left by the ropes were still burning a blazing heat. He just chuckled, proud of the pain he’d saved the centaur.

Magorian was taken aback, but nodded. “Alright, I shan’t say anything more to make you feel guilty. I thank you for taking the spell for me. Tonight, you have proved yourself a true friend, and you’ll always be welcome among us if things don’t quite work out in the human world. Farewell, Harry Potter.” Magorian walked into the middle of the clearing, whinnying what Harry now knew to be the Warrior’s Honour call. It made him feel very warm and fuzzy inside. 

Magorian left, striding off into the forest. Slowly, two others made their way into the clearing, picking up Umbridge, handling her like she was a disease. They tersely nodded at Harry and Hermione, then made their way back into the forest, gleeful grins covering their faces. Harry smirked. Tomorrow would be a great day. Hopefully by then, Umbridge would have changed her opinions on Magical Creatures for good.

Slowly, the rest of the centaurs filtered away, leaving only Harry, Hermione and Cobran. Hermione looked very short next to the two of them, but Harry was warily eyeing Cobran’s hoof.

“That was a brave thing you did there, shrimp,” said Cobran. “You look like you have something important to do, so go and do it. You’ve officially gained my respect.” Harry grinned. That was high praise coming from Cobran. Hermione looked very lost.

“Thanks, I guess. I’m glad you’re not going to acquaint me with your hoof though.”

“You’re right, I’m not going to do that, not tonight. Well, I have to go now. I’ve got a particular Umbridge to terrify. Here’s to us never seeing each other again.” Harry chuckled. That was the most Cobran thing he’d ever heard her say.

“Here’s to us never seeing each other again, Cobran. It’s been good knowing you.” They nodded at each other, before Harry moved to leave with Hermione. But before they could leave the clearing, Harry heard clomping hooves behind him. He turned, only to be swept up into a strong hug by Cobran. She gripped him around his middle, Harry awkwardly patting her head, unsure what to do in the current situation.

Without any fanfare, Cobran let him go and galloped into the forest, tail whipping behind her, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. Harry smiled softly. Who knew that the stroppy centaur had it in her to actually hug someone? Well, now Harry could say he’d experienced that rare phenomenon. Not that anyone outside of the centaur clan would know what the hell he was talking about.

“How did you know that would work?” Harry turned and shrunk back down to his normal size. The side of hi mouth quirked and he didn’t say anything, believing that nothing needed to be explained at the moment.

“I’ll tell you later, Hermione,” he explained. “Now, we need to focus on getting to the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius.” Hermione bristled, her curiosity nowhere near sated.

“You can’t just say that, Harry. How do you know the Centaurs? How do you know your way around the forest? You can’t just expect me to wait for the answers when you know it will drive me completely and utterly loopy!” Harry chuckled at how childish the usually very articulate Hermione sounded.It was quite a surprise, actually. Sighing, Harry relented.

“I’ll tell you on the way back. Now, are you opposed to a piggy-back ride to the outside of the forest?” He turned back into the Blue Guy and scooped Hermione up. She squeaked in protest, before clinging to his back when he took off in the direction he knew to be the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

“Are you crazy?” she shrieked directly into his ear. Harry snorted, and ignoring her continuous shouts of him being crazy, Harry made use of his amplified voice and began telling Hermione the story of the last month, how he’d been taking Archery lessons each night with the Centaurs and was slowly beginning to learn of their customs and culture. He went on to tell her how beautiful the culture was, and once you managed to get past their guarded and prickly exteriors, that they were just like anyone else.

Hermione bumping on his back, they made it to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, coming out at the bridge that stretched over the large ravine that marred the rugged terrain surrounding Hogwarts. Gently, Harry let Hermione down. He couldn’t see it, but she was stretching her toes down, trying in vain to reach the ground when she was clearly too short.

“Let me down more, Harry,” she squeaked. Harry smirked and dropped her unceremoniously the remaining distance. She staggered around a bit before coming around to the from of his and swatting the highest place which she could reach. It happened to be his elbow. Harry chuckled, before motioning for them to start walking back over the bridge and into Hogwarts.

Before they could do so, four figures rounded a bend in the bridge and started sprinting towards them. The disheveled group, led by a very proud looking Ron, skidded to a halt before Harry and Hermione. Ron smirked when he saw that Harry was the Blue Guy at the moment, still panting. Neville, Ginny and Luna almost fell over in shock, stumbling backwards, eyes wide as the moon.

“Where is Harry? What did you do to him?” spat Neville, moving forward, wand pointed directly at Harry’s heart. Harry felt his eyebrows raise as he put his arms up in mock surrender.

“Nev, I’m right here.”

“You can’t be, what did you do to him?” Neville wasn’t relenting, his steely glare that Harry had never seen before striking a little fear into Harry’s heart. Man, he wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Neville Longbottom. Suddenly, he felt very sorry for Bellatrix LeStrange and her comrades. 

Sighing, Harry shrunk back down to his normal self, arms outstretched. He shook out his legs, getting rid of the familiar tingling sensation. Once it was gone, he smirked at the others. “Believe me now?”

“But how can this happen?” stuttered Ginny, moving forward as if to try and see if he was real. Slowly, she extended her hand and was about to touch him on the stomach before stopping millimeters away from his shirt. She swallowed, before backing off. “I’m sure we’ll discover it later. Right now, we need to focus on getting to Sirius. Explanations come second now.” Harry nodded.

“Guys, we need to find a way to get to the Ministry. None of us know how to make Portkeys, and I’m not to fond of them myself. Hermione, do you think you could see if there are any options from above, while we talk down here?” 

“No, Harry, I can’t do that. You already know that there are no methods of transport out of here apart from the Floo. Our best option would be to go through Umbridge’s fireplace. She isn’t there and it will be quicker than me flapping around.” Ron stepped forward, with Harry and Hermione’s wands in his hand. He quickly handed them to Harry and Hermione, who took them gratefully, before delivering the grave news.

“The fireplace has been destroyed. I’m also fairly sure we can’t break into another teacher’s office and just use their Floo.”

“Come on, Hermione. Surely Hagrid is hiding Griffins in the forest, or something with wings. There may even be some Hippogriffs that we could ride. But the quickest way for you--Hermione!” She was dashing right for the edge of the ravine, scowling. The five of them surged forward to try and grab her before the leaped off the cliff and down into the depths of the crevice.

“HERMIONE!” screamed Luna, anguish coating her voice. Harry, however, took a step back when he realised what she was doing. And surely enough, a second later, a green and red parrot shot up into the air, coasting over the forest and squawking indignantly at them. Ron cheered at her to go find something, while Harry just smiled.

Neville, Ginny and Luna were staring slack jawed at the bird that was now disappearing over the horizon, gawking like there was no tomorrow. 

“What the hell?” whispered Neville. Harry turned to him, shrinking in the process, turning back into a human. 

“Look, Ron, Hermione and I are Animagus. We don’t have time to discuss this, though. Hermione will be back soon with whether there is a way for us to get to the Ministry without Floo or Portkey. This is a time when we need to band together to rescue Sirius, not question each other about secrets. We can do that afterwards. Now, does anyone have any suggestions for modes of transport?” In the moment, Harry felt very much like a leader. Thanks to his experience in Dumbledore’s Army, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. In fact, it was one he was willing to welcome if it helped him and others survive.

And you better believe that he was going to lead his team to victory with no casualties whatsoever.

“Modes of transport?” Luna’s voice lilted out over the group, a stark difference from when she screamed Hermione’s name minutes before. 

“Isn’t there a flying Ford Anglia trundling around the forest?” chuckled Ron. Harry glared at him and he shut up immediately, realising how much this meant to Harry. If he was in any other situation, jokes would a appropriate. Now now though. 

Now was the time for focus.

A screech heralded Hermione’s arrival. They all looked skywards, though scattered when she dived for the middle of the circle. Typically, she pulled up at the last moment, landing lightly and tucking her wings into her body, before shooting upwards and turning back into Hermione as they knew her. She tucked a rogue piece of fruzzy hair behind her ear and spoke.

“Nothing. In most areas the trees are too thick, and even if I could see through them, I doubt there would be much.” 

“Damn it!” Harry growled. 

“Harry, have you considered the Thestrals?” asked Luna, voice light and distracted. That stopped Harry short. Never would his thoughts have drifted to the gaunt skeletal horses that hid in the twilight. Now that Luna mentioned them, they were the perfect way to get to the Ministry of Magic without detection.

“Okay, that will work. But how are we going to find them?” Harry asked. Ginny, Hermione and Ron looked positively startled at the thought of riding the horses that were invisible to their eyes. Harry counted it as a privilege that they weren’t able to see the unusual beings, but there was no way for him to be travel back in time and change things. He’d learnt that if bad things happened, sometimes it was best to accept them and try to move on in life.

“We don’t need to worry about that. They are right there.” Slowly, Luna raised her finger to point towards the six thestrals nickering at the edge of the forest. Harry couldn’t help but smile. When you saw past their scaly, reptilian exterior, they really were quite sweet.

The three who couldn’t see the horses seemed to be extremely disturbed. Harry ignored this, approaching one standing on the edge. Slowly, Harry held out his hand and the horse trod towards him, eventually 

nuzzling it’s snout into Harry’s hand. It’s breath was warm and wet, causing Harry to withdraw his hand fairly quickly. The horse whinnied in apparent protest. Ignoring this, Harry stroked the creatures neck gently, closing his eyes and feeling it’s breaths, imagining it’s heartbeat. The thestral calmed, making a contented noise that Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at. He made a move to get up on it’s back but found that he fell short by a foot or so. He leaped again, and somehow manage to tumble over the thestral and land in a heap on the other side. Spitting leaves out of his mouth, Harry tried for a final time. 

Finally, he was successful, though the thestral beneath him seemed to be laughing. If thestrals could do such a thing as laugh. Harry playfully clapped it on the wither. It stomped a front foot and Harry sobered down. An angry thestral was the last thing he wanted on his conscience. 

Around him, Neville and Luna were helping Ron, Hermione and Ginny up onto the horses. Ron kept croaking that it was very uncomfortable being up in the air on something he could fee but couldn’t see. Hermione, as far as Harry could see, looked like she was on the verge of wanting to see someone die to be able to see one of them. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but he could see her brain running wild, like a rushing waterfall. Ginny, surprisingly, was very calm and exuded comfort. 

Eventually, they were all mounted and ready to go, though two in their company were shifting uncomfortably, looking as if the entire world was going to end in a matter of mere minutes. Harry couldn’t blame Ron and Hermione. If he were thing on something he couldn’t see, he would be very jumpy and twitchy. 

“Everyone ready?” he called, feeling like quite the leader. A chorus of shaky “Ready as I’ll ever be!” came back to him. Smiling and shaking out his limbs, Harry gripped onto the small knob inbetween the base of the thestral’s wings and bent forward. “Please, take us to the Ministry of Magic visitor entrance.” For a few seconds, the thestral just stood there. He had just enough time to wonder if he was stupid for asking a horse where to go.

Then the thestral spread it’s mighty wings and launched up into the air. Harry gasped and held on for dear life as it propelled itself upwards, into the sky, leathery bat wings flapping hard. Tree branches were whipping across his face as they stampeded through the canopy. Harry closed his eyes and winced as they snapped against his glasses. 

Then it stopped. 

Harry slowly opened his eyes, and gasped at what he saw. The thestral was calmly coasting along in the sky, wings barely flapping. The speed they were going was frankly jaw-dropping, easily dwarfing the Firebolt. The dark, velvety sky, star twinkling down at them, spread above them, sky clear, not a single solitary cloud to be seen. And below them, sprawling over the hills, mighty spires spearing and lancing upwards and into the sky, lag Hogwarts. It was a breathtaking sight, and Harry found himself sucking in a breath. This reminded him of the first time he’d ever seen Hogwarts.

The beautiful castle was the jewel of the surrounding land. The Black Lake, calm for once, shimmered under the moonlight as the thestrals looped around the castle. Before he could marvel more at the impressive castle, the thestrals started speeding off over the rough, mountainous terrain. Harry crouched down low on the thestral’s back, partially stopping the high speed winds from buffeting his face. 

The ride continued, with Ron, Hermione and Ginny becoming partially used to riding on something that was invisible to their eyes yet carrying them through the air. Neville and Luna were having the time of their lives, shooting through the skies, performing dangerous tricks and stunts, diving up and down. The thestrals themselves seemed to be enjoying themselves, not putting up a mite or resistance. Hermione did look slightly unsettled, but seeing as she hated flying on things, which Harry learnt from their first flying lesson together and when they flew on Buckbeak together.

Though he thought his friends having fun was good, right now was not the time to be messing around. Siriu was waiting for them, it was confirmed by the mouth of Kreacher. Still, he didn’t say anything. They were going as fast as they could go, and Neville and Luna could easily catch up when they were nearing London. It just wasn’t his place to step in.

Time flew by, and before they knew it the minute houses of London began to pop into view beneath them. Yellow lights shining out through the windows of houses dotted the landscape. The spires of historic buildings shot upwards, and the thestrals began a gentle descent. By now Harry’s hands were practically ice, so when his stomach suddenly jolted from the thestral beginning a steep descent, he didn’t complain.

They landed in the middle of a cobbled street, cobbles slick with dew. To the side lay the red telephone box which contained so many bad memories for Harry. Looking around at the others, Harry dismounted the thestral, sliding down off the side and wincing when he forgot to bend his legs. Damn groundshock. The others did the same, thumping down onto the ground. Hermione wobbled around for a bit, before turning around and saying a gentle thank you in what she thought was the direction of the thestral. In reality, she was facing away from it, but Harry didn’t say anything.

Instead, he turned around to his thestral and laid his hand on it’s nose, whispering a thank you and look directly into its milky white eyes. His time with the centaurs had also led to him picking up on basic customs among their community, such as thanking for big things. Harry figured this was a big thing.

The thestral nickered slightly, before turning around and galloping down the street spreading its majestic wings. The others followed, and Harry couldn’t help but be a bit sad seeing them go. For some reason, he had a soft spot for the skeletal horses.

To their left, on the footpath, was a red telephone box. There was nothing suspicious about it, unless you realised that it was the guest entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Harry could still remember the feeling as he and Mr Weasley walked into it, ready for the hearing. Shaking his head of the memories, Harry opened the door and they all crammed into the telephone box, squishing up against the wall.

“Whoever is nearest to the receiver, dial six-two-four-four-two!” he urged, cramped up against the back of the battered telephone box, squished against the glass. This happened to be Ginny, and the five taps of the numbers going in seemed agonizingly slow. Finally, the silky female voice sounded throughout the telephone box.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger,” Harry’s voice was speeding up and he could feel the sweat dripping slowly down the back of his neck. “Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. We’re here to save someone. It’s urgent, please be quick.”

“Thank you,” said the cool female voice. “Please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.”

The six badges rattled down the metal chute usually designated for coins and change. Ginny scooped them up and handed them out, not a word being spoken. Harry grabbed his and examined the front; Harry Potter: Rescue Mission. He pinned it to the front of his school jacket carelessly, not having any robes to pin them to. The robes were still sitting in Umbridge’s office.

“Please remember that visitors are required to visit the security desk for a wand check and verification.” 

“All right, can we get moving now?” Harry growled. As if the phonebox had heard him, it started rattling, before beginning to descend slowly into the pavement. The uniform houses and shops of the street slowly vanished, being replaced with roughly cut, dirty stone. The last bit of dim light disappeared and darkness 

descended on the telephone box. Mere seconds later, golden light began filtering into the battered box, casting odd shadows over everyone’s faces. 

Slowly, the light rose up their bodies, and before they could say anything, the telephone box shuddered to a halt, landing gently on the highly polished marble floor of the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The door opened and the six of them spilled out, falling onto the floor. Someone’s wand clattered onto the ground, the sound echoing around the room. It was picked up quickly, and they all stood up.

Harry fished his wand out of his robes, holding it the same way he had last year in the graveyard. Like he was never going to let go of it. 

Suddenly, a sharp pain burned in his forehead. Harry’s hand flew up to cover his scar, mouth twisted into a grimace. Everyone turned to look at him in concern. No, he didn’t have time for this. Straightening up, Harry ignored the constant burning sensation over his scar, taking in the room around him.

It was eerie how different a room would look with nobody in it. The atrium was starkly different from the last time he’d seen it, with witches and wizards bustling around all with places to be and people to see. Now, it was deathly silent save for the gentling babbling of the disgusting statue in the middle of the main courtyard. The golden monstrosity couldn’t be farther from the truth. The centaur, goblin and house elf, the statues of them, didn’t represent how things would be in real life. They would never adore the witch and wizard in that way. It didn’t help that as they walked closer to it, the wizard’s face twisted into a sneer as if he couldn’t believe what he was doing there.

Shaking his head, Harry made his way over to the security desk. Suspiciously, there was no one there, even though Harry knew that someone was meant to be posted there all day and all night. Then again, it was the Ministry, so Harry wasn’t surprised.

“There’s no one here, Harry,” whispered Ron.

“A very astute observation,” replied Harry sarcastically. It wasn’t usually his style, but tonight he just wasn’t putting up with anything. He had a certain godfather to rescue.

“No need to be nasty, Harry,” snapped Hermione. “Look, I know we’re all running on fumes, so could everyone just take a deep breath.” They all did as Hermione suggested, before Harry began jogging towards the elevator he knew would lead to the Department of Mysteries. The others followed.

“Where exactly are we going, Harry” asked Neville. Harry then realised that the others had no idea where they were going. They knew what they were here to do, just no where they were going to do the thing they were here to do. 

“To a little place I like to call the Department of Mysteries, Nev,” Harry stated, looking at his reflection in the metal wall of the elevator. Looking closer, Harry though he saw a tall, deathly pale figure standing behind him, leering over his shoulder, evil scarlet eyes gleaming. He jumped up and whipped around. Nobody was there. He was seeing things.

Great. 

Next thing Harry knew he would find himself having an entertaining conversation with the local hoover.

Shuddering at the prospect of Voldemort standing right behind him, having crept up behind him without him knowing, Harry hit the button on the menu labeled ‘Department of Mysteries’. The lift immediately began trundling downwards, giving Harry ample time to think. Anyway, he would know if Voldemort was behind him. Tom Riddle was one who was prone to announce himself with a very loud fanfare.

As the passed through all of the levels, Harry could feel the fear in the elevator creeping up slightly. It began 

to sneak out into the air, polluting it. Resolutely, Harry stared through the grille of the elevator. He wouldn’t let it affect him. Nothing was going to stop him in his quest to rescue Sirius, nothing could.

“Department of Mysteries,” said the cool female voice. The grille slid open, clattering to a stop on the right side of the door. Slowly, they walked forward into the dark corridor in front of them. 

Harry knew where they were. This was the corridor from his dreams, the ones that had taunted him all year long. The reflective surfaces, sent back warped and distorted images of him at all angles, like a house of mirrors at a fun fair.

“I know where we are,” he whispered. “This is the the corridor from my dreams. I know where we have to go!” And with that, he was rushing forwards, finally getting to the door which had haunted him all year long, the one that he knew would hold Sirius behind it, the one that led to the room full of glowing orbs. He was barely aware of the others sprinting along behind him. The door wasn’t shrinking out of the way like it usually did. Now he was right there.

Harry came to a stop mere inches before the door, breathing heavily. At last, he was here, closer than ever to rescuing Sirius and seeing what the orb room was about.

Slowly, Harry reached his hand forward and placed it on the Mysterious door. It was cold to the touch, but not an overwhelming cold. More like a cool bottle of water pressed to your forehead on a blistering summer's day. A smile spread over Harry’s face.

“Finally,” he breathed.

And then, his eyes opened and filled with a determination no one had ever seen the likes of.


	10. The Department of Mysteries

Harry pushed open the door. It creaked, tapping the wall. The sound echoed around the circular chamber before them, ominous and brooding. Harry breathed deeply before stepping into the chamber. His footsteps tapped loudly. The other five followed, hesitating slightly. 

The room they stepped into was circular, doors standing a few feet apart from each other, on every part of the wall. It was barely lit, prompting them to use the Lumos charm. 

“Which door first?” said Neville. No one responded. Harry shivered. There was a strange feeling in this room. Something that he really didn’t want to know the reasons behind. That was something that could stay locked up in the shadows. 

“How about this one?” suggested Hermione. She moved towards a door and opened it. Warm light spilled out, bathing them in gold. They filed in, Harry striding ahead, wand outstretched. There was something disconcerting about how welcoming the light was. Once again, Harry put it behind him. There were more important things to be worrying about.

The room was large, with strange pink things floating in tanks. The air smelt acrid, filled with the musty smell of a room long forgotten. Dust coated every surface, and a mess of footprints followed their path. Harry walked forwards, wand outstretched. No one said a word. Silence encompassed them. Enveloped them. 

The strange pink things tittered, just loud enough so that they could hear them. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. The laughter was a child’s, innocent and haunting. Then it began to turn into a cackle, the volume amplifying until they all covered their ears. It was so loud it hurt and the mad cackling was everywhere.

Suddenly it stopped.

“What in tarnation was that?” said Neville.

“I have no idea,” said Ginny. She looked around and the disgust was evident on her face. Whatever these things were, they were revolting.

“Whatever they are, we need to stay away from them.” Harry’s word was final, except for Ron, who walked curiously towards the glass tanks. His hand outstretched, he laid it on the glass, transfixed by the floating pink blobs. Long, wavering tentacles came up to touch the other side of the glass where Ron’s hand was.

“See, they’re nothing to be worried about, guys. It’s harmless.” Ron was grinning like a maniac, very pleased with himself and the fact he was the only one comfortable around the pink blob. Hermione gasped in realisation. 

“Ron, get away from them,” she pleaded. Ron giggled, but Hermione yanked him back just as the glass shattered and pink tendrils lashed out at him. They grazed Ron’s arms, desperately trying to grab on, with no success. He blinked, shell shocked. Then he turned around and embraced Hermione, wrapping his long arms around her. She squeaked, but didn’t try to get him off.

“Thanks, ‘Mione.”

“There’s no time for this, Ron. We need to get going,” she replied. Ron nodded.

“Right. Let’s go.” Harry lead the way out, back into the circular room. Neville closed the door shut behind him. Before anyone could try anything, though, the room began spinning crazily, making each and every one of them feel unbearably dizzy.

Soon, it stopped. The room looked the same.

“What was that supposed to do?” asked Ron, very confused.

“It was obviously meant to confuse us, a way to keep intruders, such as ourselves, out of the Department. We really should mark the doors when we go into them, so we know which is which.

And so, they tried door after door, each one yielding no results. The fiery trail left by the golden crosses seared onto the doors flew around them, imprinting itself into everyone’s minds. Every minute, Harry was becoming more desperate, Sirius was through one of these doors and he was doing nothing to help, he was just opening doors and seeing nothing that was of help to them.

They saw many things, many strange things, but none of them matched up with his tantalising dreams. He yelled out in frustration and ran forward, yanking open the first door he saw without an ‘X’ engraved into it. It sprang open.

There was a room full of cupboards with glass fronts, some very familiar looking time turners inside them. To the side was a bell jar with a hummingbird going through the stages of life and death and then again. Normally, this would be something to stop and marvel at. Hermione certainly was, having squeezed past him. She was flitting around and murmuring under her breath. 

Harry moved into the room, looking for any other doors. If there were any. It couldn’t hurt to check. Maybe there was one, and the room he wanted was behind it. He wasn’t going to take the chance and miss it. He sprang into action, searching every crevice, behind every sparkling grandfather clock and inside the large one in the corner. 

And then, just as he was ready to give up, he saw the outline of a door. Sitting smugly behind a collection of time turners, barely visible through the smudgy glass. He rammed his shoulder against the cabinet and it slowly shifted, with a mighty groaning noise. Sweat began to bead on Harry’s neck at the effort. He swiped his hand over his forehead and gave the cabinet one final shove. 

The door was there, low in the wall, barely visible on the black, but it was there alright. The handle was flat and dark. Harry reached down and turned it. The door didn’t open. He turned it again and pushed against it. Again, it didn’t budge. Growling in frustration, he pulled out his wand and muttered a hasty, “Alohomora.” 

Surprisingly, with a clicking noise, it creaked open. It’s not supposed to be that easy. Nevermind that.

A cool breeze washed over him, blue light spilling through the doorway. He stopped and stared, breath escaping him. Rows upon rows of dusty white spheres on dusty wooden shelves, all sitting there. Just waiting.

“This is it,” whispered Harry. The others stopped trying understand Hermione and her talk of something called a ‘Delorean’ and moved over to the door. “Let’s go. This is what I’ve been waiting for, and you better believe that I’m not going to stop now.” He crouched and squeezed through the small doorway, popping out the other side.

The room was of mammoth size, the ceiling arching upwards further than the eye could see. Rows and rows 

of towering shelves occupied the cathedral sized room. The unused orbs were glowing and pulsing slightly, as if calling out. Harry surveyed everything, until the row number caught his eye. 

57.

He moved along, glancing at each of the numbers.

62.

He started running, the numbers flashing past.

77.

Sirius was so close now, he could feel it. Soon he would be safe, thanks to Harry.

88.

Nearly there. Almost there.

“Ninety-seven,” he breathed, skidding to a stop in front of one of the rows. Sirius was down there, at the end, just like the vision had showed him. Soon, everyone would be safe, and they would be back at Hogwarts. Voldemort would be avoided for once, and Sirius would be safe.

Dense mist clung to the floor, whispering ominously and slinking around like it was alive. Harry waded through it, eyes roving the lane. Halfway down and no sign of Sirius. His mouth was beginning to dry up, his tongue sticky. 

“Sirius,” he croaked. “Where are you? You have to be here!” Hermione crept up behind him. 

“Harry,” she said gently, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, whipping around to face her.

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, Hermione,” he hissed. “Sirius is here, I saw him. He has to be here, he can’t...just...not be.” Hermione blinked at the sudden change in his mood, from desperate to venomous. That was so unlike the Harry she knew and loved like a brother. The situation would have to be dire for him to lash out so.

Harry cautiously stepped forward, moving through the mist without a sound. His ears were pricked for the tiniest wail, the tiniest call of, “Help!”, if there was a sound to be heard he would damn well hear it. Sirius had to be somewhere down the row. Maybe he was gagged and tied, hidden deep beneath the thick layer of mist. Maybe he was already dead. Harry banished that thought down a dark hole. Maybe Voldemort was hidden around a corner, waiting to spring on Harry when he least expected it.

No, that wasn’t Voldemort’s style. He was one for speeches and grandiose while you were kneeling before him. He certainly wasn’t one for lurking behind shelving and striking you in the back without a word. With Voldemort, he always had to let you know that he was the victor.

“Sirius?” It was one last desperate croak. He was at the end of the row. Nothing. Sirius wasn’t concealed anywhere, there was no one there. Quickly, Harry ran up and down the surrounding aisles. Again, no one was there. Tears pricked his eyes and spilled out over the edges, cutting tracks down his cheeks. He fell to his knees.

It was a trick. It was all a trick. Sirius wasn’t there. Kreacher lied to him. He’d fallen right into Voldemort’s trap, his emotions getting the better of him. Truth be told, it was nothing more than what he usually did. This time, though, Harry desperately wished he’d listened to Hermione’s advice of it being a trap.

He cursed and pounded his fist on the ground, the mist whispering slightly louder. This was all his fault. His 

friends were in danger, he was in danger, he’d lead them here on an assumption that Sirius was trapped here. Why did he always find himself in these situations? He’d never know.

“Harry?” said Ron, his voice quiet. Harry snapped up, hauling himself to his feet. “There’s something you might want to see, over here.” Perhaps it was Sirius, perhaps he’d missed him in his frantic running around. He shot over, only to find Ron staring at a small, pulsing orb, with a yellowed label stuck onto the wood beneath it. 

“What? Have you found Sirius?” Ron suddenly looked very different, very small indeed.

“No, it’s not that. I just think you might want to have a look at this. It’s something to do with you.” Ron shifted aside and Harry approached the sphere with trepidation. It was rather ordinary, as far as pulsing spheres go. He glanced down and read the label.

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D

Dark Lord 

And (?) Harry Potter

His breath caught in his throat. His name was written onto the yellowing sheet of paper stuck to haphazard shelves in a cathedral like room deep underground. This had to be a trick. Something to do with Voldemort. His eyes roved the other labels, but only his name was there.

“What do you think it is?” asked Hermione.

“No idea,” he replied. “Honestly, no clue.” He wanted to know what it was now, what all of these were. Why his name was there and why it was connected to a Dark Lord. Obviously, the Dark Lord in question was Voldemort, he was the only one around at the moment. 

“I think we should go,” said Ginny from the beginning of the aisle. “ If Sirius isn’t here, then we really should go.”

“Just a minute,” said Harry. He drew closer to the ball, gazing into its depths. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Divination Class, staring into a crystal ball and trying to discern an image out of the fog. “There’s something I want to see.” He drew closer still and made to pick the ball up and hold it.

“Harry, I don’t think you should do that. It could be dangerous.” Hermione, as always, being the voice of reason. Harry, as always, ignoring her advice. 

He picked it up. Strangely, it was warm. Humming almost, like it was alive. In a sudden cloud, the dust blew up, coming off the orb. Harry coughed, waving it out of the way. Now that it was clean, he could see details clearer. He saw figures running, fighting and defending, and then a flash of green light lit the orb up. He almost dropped it. It couldn’t be telling the story of how his parents died, it couldn’t. He was so engrossed in the ball, Harry didn’t hear the footsteps.

A cold voice spoke from behind him.

“Well done, Potter. Now slowly turn around and give that to me.” 

Against the voice’s wishes, Harry whipped around, drawing his wand and pointing it at Lucius Malfoy who stood before him. All around them, dark figures materialised, blocking every exit. Evil eyes glinted through slits in their silver, skull like masks and wand were drawn pointed directly at the other’s hearts. Ginny gave a terrified gasp and Luna whimpered.

Malfoy stepped forward. “Hand it over, Potter,” he sneered. “It’s very simple. Give the prophecy to us and 

you will go free.” Harry only clutched it tightly, though thoughts were whirling through his brain. Prophecy? It was a prophecy, then. Why was he involved in a prophecy and why was Lucius Malfoy here to collect it?

“Where is Sirius?” he bit out. Malfoy laughed, a slow, drawling sound.

“The Dark Lord always knows,” he murmured. The surrounding Death Eaters mimicked him, cackling away at his plight. “Always. Now, hand it over and I won’t hurt your little friends.” In an instant the threat changed, with Death Eaters swarming forward and putting wands at people’s throats. Harry cursed his own stupidity. His friends were going to get hurt because of him and his damn stupidity.

“Where is he! Tell me!” His anger was growing, his hand becoming slippery. A woman swaggered out from behind Malfoy, eyes dark and nose sharp, black curls coiled on top of her head. She gave a manic grin.

“He knows how to play! Itty, bitty, baby Potter!” She cackled, pointing her wand at him. “I’m going to have some fun with you, Potter. The Dark Lord will thank me for that.”

“Voldemort is weak!” he spat, knowing the words to be a lie. Still they reassured him. The woman’s eyes widened.

“You dare? You dare speak his name! You filthy half-blood!” Malfoy put a hand in front of her chest as she made to lunge forward and hurt Harry. Preferably gouge his eyes out and put them in a jar for her Dark Lord, and then murder him where he stood.

“Now, now, Bella,” said Malfoy. “We musn’t lose control of ourselves, must we?” She calmed down, but was still eyeing him like she was going to use his intestines as a washing line. Harry came to a horrible realisation. The woman was Bellatrix Lestrange, the one who tortured Neville’s parents into insanity. He glared hard at her. 

“I dare! Now tell me, where is Sirius.” 

Lestrange moved forward, circling Harry and running her wand over his neck. He shivered as her hand found its way onto his shoulder. She bent down, close to his ear. “He was never here, was he?” Harry felt his heart sink. It was a trap. One he’d fallen into without a second of hesitation or consideration. 

She laughed when Harry lunged outwards, striking her in her belly hard. A gasp escaped her lips. She twirled around and brought her wand up to Harry’s face. 

“REDUCTO!” Malfoy grabbed her arms and skewed it to the side, sending it flying up into the air. It collided with two of the other prophecies. They smashed to the ground, ethereal figures rising up from within. 

“NO! We need the prophecy whole. He has to give it to us, and he can’t do that when his head is split open, can we?” Lestrange pouted, while Harry took down his hastily erected shield. He gazed at the wavering figures, who were glowing slightly, mouths moving but no sound coming out. 

Then they faded away, leaving nothing but smashed glass behind, scattered over the floor. Harry looked upwards, having an idea. He just didn’t know how to convey it to the others. They were all exchanging glances, the Death Eaters having dropped them at a glance from Malfoy. The same idea was forming in their heads. 

Together, the ix of them formed a defensive circle, wands raised. The Deaths Eaters scoffed at this, because what chance does a group of teenagers have against a group more than double their numbers? Harry slipped the prophecy into his pocket, shifting his weight to accommodate it. He straightened his glasses and brushed hair out of his eyes. Wand pointed at the bottom of a shelf, he turned to a smirking Malfoy and gleeful Lestrange.

“Whatever you are going to try, you honestly think you have a chance against us, little children?” cooed Lestrange in a voice meant for babies. “Isn’t it sweet how they are trying to escape with the prophecy?” Harry bristled.

“Isn’t it sweet how we are going to succeed in escaping with the prophecy? NOW!” Six ‘Reducto’ spells shot outwards, colliding with the bottom of the shelves. There was a magnificent boom. For a minute, there was complete and utter silence, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The glass began tinkling, crashing onto the floor, the creaking of collapsing shelves following suit. With the Death Eaters distracted, they began to run like they’d never run before.

The door slid into view before them, at the end of the row. They couldn’t run any faster, arms and legs pumping in desperation as the collapsing shelves caught up to them, certain death awaiting if they didn’t run fast enough. 

The sounds of smashing glass were everywhere, gaining on them. Neville reached the door and yanked it open. The ran through it, coming into a room rather like the time room, except instead of clocks there were kitchen utensils and windchimes made of knives and forks clanging in a breeze they couldn’t feel. Neville twisted in and yanked it shut behind him. Death Eaters were hammering on the other side and Harry could hear the handle being turned behind them. 

“We’ve got to move!” he said urgently and they swarmed towards the door on the other side of the room. When it opened, showing the circular room from before, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. In that maze, it would be easy to lose the Death Eaters. 

He ran for a door on the other side, one that wasn’t marked with a now dimming ‘X’. The others stampeded through and he slammed it shut behind him. This would buy them some time. Not much, but enough to sit down and talk about what they wanted to do. 

“Colloportus,” Hermione said. The door locked itself with a slurping noise. “Okay, what are we going to do now?” No one answered. Harry was too busy contemplating the prophecy. Ron just looked plain scared. Neville had a murderous glare directed at a tome on a rickety table, which she supposed was meant to be Bellatrix Lestrange. Ginny was fingering her wand contemplating spells, especially a ‘Reducto’, which she was excellent at. Luna was investigating an odd portrait on the wall with purple skin and green eyes which seemed to be moving when no one looked at it.

They were in a room full of strange artifacts, much like the Room of Requirement. Knick knacks were arranged in piles reaching the rather low ceiling, and in the center there was a dark dusty desk, with a faded plush chair and split quill resting upon it. In the corner there was a sign, saying that the office belonged to the curator. No one paid attention to it though.

Harry delved into his pocket and carefully grabbed the sphere. So if it was a prophecy, why was he chosen to be part of it? Why was there a question mark? Who else could it have been about if he wasn’t the only one it could have been about. Sighing, he put it back in his pocket and stood.

“I think we should find a way out. Together. No splitting up, I know how well that ends.” The others moved in close.

‘We’re pretty lost, Harry,” said Ginny. “If we go out that door, Death Eaters will be waiting. If we go through the one at the back, we’re just going to get even more lost. And we most certainly can’t wait it out, we’ll die long before they go. They’re probably testing doors right now. We’ll be found soon.”

“Yes, but what if that door leads to a safe room? We should take our chances and go deeper in,” argued Neville.

“We could always open it and just see what it is, you know,” suggested Luna, voice gentle and light. That stopped everyone up short. “Would you like me to see?” 

“Okay, it’s worth a shot,” said Harry. Luna walked over and opened the door. 

“I think it’s safe,” she said. “We can go through and hide in there, it will take them longer to reach us.” 

“Are you sure?” asked Ron, standing and moving over to the door. “Oh, it’s just another room like this. Come on, guys, let’s go. We won’t get lost in there. Thanks, Luna.” Luna blushed and together they walked through the door. Once again, Hermione locked it with the same spell she used before. Harry shuddered at the slurping noise. It was something he would never be able to get used to.

“Alright, so what do we do now? When they come knocking, and they will, are we just going to sit here like ducks?” asked Neville.

“Of course not,” reassured Hermione. “We’ll come up with a plan to escape. I mean, this is just a room with no exits, and no good defence strategies. Surely we can come up with something.” Harry sighed, standing up.

“I know the Death Eaters quite well, by now. They will have split up to try and find us. There will most likely be three at the most. We can deal with them, there are six of us. Can anyone conjure tables or walls, we can use those to defend ourselves.” Hermione was just about to reply, when the wall to the right of them started peeling away, water running down it, stripping away the paint. 

A door was left behind, a large archway filled with grand wood and a gaudy doorknob. The water started soaking through their shoes, now coming from the floor. It was slowly rising. Soon it was up to their knees.

“We need to get through that door, now!” said Hermione urgently. They all sloshed over to it, the water rising faster than ever. Now it was up to their hips. They were starting to panic. Ginny tried to tug on the doorknob, but it sparked and burnt her. She screamed and stumbled back, falling backwards into the water, it submerging her. Hermione surged forward and tugged at it with all her might. It opened and she fell through. A current started pushing them towards it. Harry and Ron slipped through, falling onto dry ground and coughing water up.

“WE CAN’T GET THROUGH!” screamed Ginny, pounding at an invisible barrier. They were now swimming, the gap of air slowly becoming smaller and smaller. Feet tangled in robes, hand clawed at the water trying to stay afloat. Harry pounded on the door, but there was an invisible barrier separating them. He watched as they gasped for air, legs pumping madly, wands floating to the floor.

“GINNY!” screamed Ron as the water rose to fill them entire room and they watched in horror as each of them struggled, slowly going unconscious and twitching. Harry sank to the floor in grief, while Ron was pounding the wall as he watched his little sister die and he was helpless to do anything.

Suddenly, the water gushed out of the room and the three of them fell to the ground, still unconscious. Simultaneously they coughed, spitting up water and desperately gulping in air. Then the floor split beneath them and they fell down into a swirling mass of colours, squawking with surprise and disappearing from view. Harry, Ron and Hermione fell silent.

A cool, female voice echoed around the room, coming from nowhere.“Destination: Hogwarts. Please note that no harm has come to the people traveling in the experimental portal. Have a nice day.” Harry let out a breath. They were safe, all safe, back at Hogwarts. They would be fine. And they hadn’t drowned. He didn’t know where the portal had come from, but by Merlin was he thankful for it.

“They’re alive,” laughed Ron, dancing around the room. “Ginny’s alive!” Harry joined in, the sheer relief of 

the situation soaking in. Suddenly, it wasn’t looking too bad. 

Until, with a slurping noise, the door vanished into thin air, leaving no exits. The jubilant laughter ceased as dread began to fill them again. They were trapped. For real this time. In a room with no doors, windows or trapdoors, no way in and no way out. The Department of Mysteries was playing tricks on them, and now they were going to starve to death in this room and no one would ever find them.

“Okay, that is something new. So, we’re stuck here. Great.” Ron’s sarcastic tone caught Harry off guard. He wheeled around to glare at him. 

“You really need to speak like that, don’t you? Yeah, we’re stuck deep underground and are probably going to die here, why not be sarcastic?” Harry snarked. He was about to go on, then stopped himself. This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t one to snap so quickly. The room must have something to do with it. “Okay, I’m sorry. I just want to get out of here.” 

“Same here,” murmured Hermione, running her hands over the walls. “Did you notice that these walls are really weak? It’s like there’s something behind them. Almost like...” With a flourish, she reached up and tore the wall down. It was just paper. Behind it, there was an arch, awash with colours. “Another portal, do you think?”

But no one had any time to answer. A force began to nudge them towards the arch. They tried to resist, but it only grew stronger. Their struggling grew futile as they were pushed towards it. 

“What’s happening?” cried Hermione. “We can’t go through there, we don’t know what will happen!”

“Whatever happens,” said Harry, knowing that these could well be the last words he said to his friends. “Whatever happens, you guys have been the best friends I could have asked for.” Hermione choked, reaching her hands out to Harry and Ron.

“Don’t speak like that, please.” And then they were pushed into the glowing expanse of colour. As soon as they tumbled into it, tears running down their faces, it cut off, leaving behind a decrepit stone arch, nothing of note whatsoever. 

Several stories up, a smiling Unspeakable turned off the monitoring spell. That would teach teenagers to break into the Department of Mysteries.

...

Two sodden Gryffindors and a soaking Ravenclaw landed in a heap with a flash of coloured light. The stone floor beneath them was hard and cold, but to be somewhere familiar was honestly all they wanted. After nearly drowning, to be above land was a relief. The only question was: where were Harry, Ron and Hermione?

...

The portal was pulling them apart and reconstructing them every second. It felt like they were being pulled through a tube, one six sizes too small for them. Harry could see Ron and Hermione clinging onto each other for dear life. He screamed as they went down a different tunnel and disappeared from view. Now he was alone, the last thing he wanted.

The colours started waning and with a flash, he was dropped in the middle of a circular room. He groaned, in too much pain to pull himself up off the ground. Vaguely, he heard a buzzing sound, a sort of snap-hiss. Heat came close to his face and he gasped as it grazed his already cut cheeks, thanks to Umbridge.

“Who are you and how did you get here?” demanded a deep voice. Authority dripped off it and Harry 

found himself crawling backwards as a glowing violet blade thrust itself into his face. He glanced up and saw a bald man with dark skin standing over him. 

“Where am I?” Harry asked, standing up on shaky legs. Strange creatures sat on seats that circled the centre of the room. “What is this place?” The man before him scoffed.

“Surely you know where you are. This is the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.” Harry blinked at the strange name. 

“What is a Jedi?” The room chuckled. 

“You’ve got to be joking.” Harry shook his head as the man approached him, blade too close for comfort. The man swung the blade and Harry fell over again. He heard a smash come from within his robes and swore. The prophecy was broken. So much for keeping it a secret.

An ethereal figure rose from the smashed orb. Harry started to hear a rushing in his ears, so only the words, “Chosen One,” and “Will bring balance to the galaxy,” reached his ears. The buzzing became louder and just as the people in the room gazed at the prophecy in wonder, Harry disappeared in a flash of blinding light, a rainbow of colours igniting the room.

Several years later, a man called Qui-Gon Jinn found a small boy called Anakin Skywalker on a desert planet called Tatooine.

...

A man was fiddling with a console, surrounded by machinery and a happily humming time machine. He reached into the breast pocket of his brown pinstripe to fix something on the mushroom like console. Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash of light and someone landed on the floor of his machine.

Said someone groaned and hauled himself to his feet. He was wearing black robes and a gold and red tie, circular glasses perched on the end of his nose. 

“What? What?” he asked. He then scowled and put pointed the device he’d pulled from his pocket at the intruder. “Who are you and how did you get on my TARDIS? And what business do you have dressing up as Harry Potter?” 

“What is a TARDIS? And where am I? Who are you?” Harry drew his wand out his his robes, pointing it at the Doctor. “I just came from the Department of Mysteries and then this weird place called the ‘Jedi Temple’ on this place called Coruscant. Please tell me where I am.”

“Not until you tell me who you are and how you got here.” The Doctor was firm, moving forward and buzzing his Sonic Screwdriver threateningly. Harry scowled.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry said. The screwdriver flew out of the Doctor’s hands and into his. Harry flipped it and put it down on the ground. The Doctor stared, mouth agape.

“You’re Harry Potter? Actual real life Harry Potter!” He was grinning now, running around Harry and examining him from every angle. “Ohhh, this is amazing!”

“Of course I’m Harry bloody Potter, who else would I be? Now please tell me where I am!” Harry was getting sick of this. He only wanted to know where he was, and where Ron and Hermione were. For all he knew they were on some far distant world being chased through a kitchen by Velociraptors. 

“You’re on the TARDIS, my spaceship. I’m the Doctor, welcome to my home. Do you know how long you’ll be staying?” Harry stared. The man, he called himself the Doctor, had done a complete one-eighty, from hostile to welcoming, within the space of two minutes. 

“How long I’ll be staying? I think I’m going to go. Harry moved towards the doors.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, actually, you might want to…” The Doctor cringed as Harry opened the door and stepped out into the vast expanse of space. 

Harry squeaked in alarm as he stepped into nothingness. He began floating upwards, suddenly believing the Doctor about this TARDIS thing being a spaceship. He felt a fingertip graze his ankle before a loud rushing filled his ears and he disappeared in a rainbow coloured flash. 

A few days later, Shakespeare banished the Carrionites with a very familiar spell.

...

Now he was flashing through the void, not landing anywhere, just spinning round and round and around and round. He saw flashes of other worlds, forward in time and back in time. He saw a large Polynesian man covered in intricate tattoos, a liquid metal robot and a one missing half a face and an arm, a blue scarf wearing man with black curly hair and two boys racing around in a large orange car. He was being pulled apart and put back together, thoughts running rampant through his head. He wondered where Ron and Hermione were, where the hell he was and where he was going. 

Would he ever stop moving? The rainbow light around him was almost blinding. He closed his eyes and prayed that he would be set free from the tumultuous ride he was on, worse than he imagined any rollercoaster he’d ever imagined being on.

Then, without any fanfare, he was spat out onto the jungle floor. He landed hard, winding himself and agitating the cuts on his face.

Harry took one look at his surroundings, groaned, and fell unconscious from exhaustion.


	11. Pandora

A small figure in the middle the jungle was writhing around, unable to draw a single breath. It felt like there was a pillow over his mouth and nose, he couldn’t draw a single breath and it was killing him. His lungs were on fire and he was beginning to shake, movement slowly be restricted. He gasped in the toxic air, trying to breathe. 

He gasped, thinking, I need air, I need to breathe, please, I need air. A tingling sensation rose up in his chest and he screamed silently in pain as it felt like his organs were being rearranged. He rolled over, falling off something and colliding with the ground oh god he was going to die here, he was going to die and no one would ever find him.

And then he was fine. 

Like nothing was wrong, Harry gasped in air, coughing hard and strong. He reached forward and tried to grab onto something, a way to convince himself that he was actually alive. His fingers grazed the edge of something hard and he grabbed onto it, wrapping his hands around it. His body was still spasming. Thankfully, the air was cool, a relief he sorely needed. He didn’t know how he was still breathing, how he was sucking in air, but he wasn’t going to question it. He was alive, and for that he was thankful. 

Coughing, Harry sat up and took in his surroundings. His eyes widened. This was not a place he was familiar with. Considering his age, it was no surprise he hadn’t been dropped in the middle of a jungle, and he didn’t think Ron and Hermione would have been to one as well. 

Harry stopped short. Tears began to well in his eyes, threatening to overflow. Where were Ron and Hermione? Were they alright? Were they safe? Well, he was alive, so that meant they had to be alive as well. They could all get through the door in the Department of Mysteries, they were all shoved into the portal. Surely, if the rooms wanted them dead, they would be dead, not sent down a different tunnel in a rainbow coloured portal. Harry sighed and crossly wiped tears out of his eyes. He was alone at the moment, and there was nothing he could do about it. Best to continue and try to stay alive, then go looking for his friends. If they were alive. Harry shook his head. He wasn’t going to think like that.

Trees shot up all around him, glowing in the night. Vibrant colours swirled all around him, creating a soft atmosphere that he could get used to. Moss covered the ground and coated surfaces, lighting up at odd intervals and creating beautiful patterns. Harry looked beneath him and saw that where he was kneeling was lit up, light swirling outwards. He placed a palm down and smiled as the light shot outwards in a star pattern. This was new. New a beautiful. Certainly not Earth but…

Harry’s eyes widened as panic began to consume him. He wasn’t on Earth. He was somewhere in space. And he was breathing without aid of anything. Not a spacesuit or a bubble charm. He was breathing on another planet. He laughed out loud in disbelief. Trust him to find himself in these crazy situations. Well, there was a way here. There must be a way back. He would find it, eventually. 

Shakily, Harry stood. He would have to do something about constantly having to stand on wobbly legs. Maybe he could build up his stamina so his legs were stronger? That could work, though the Blue Guy was 

far stronger. Maybe he could just live as the Blue Guy. No, he had to be himself. One lesson that the centaurs had taught him was not to rely heavily on the Blue Guy when he couldn’t do something. 

If he couldn’t reach a fruit on a tree, make a ladder.

He panicked a little bit when he realised his wand was missing. Finding a piece of wood in a jungle would be a terribly hard task, especially at night. Harry felt naked without it. It was first priority to get his hands back on his wand so he could at least know he had some security. Not much but some. He didn’t know how well magic would work on this foreign planet.

Sweeping his hands around, his fingers found a small round stick, under a glowing shrub. Harry pulled it out and was greeted by the familiar sight of his holly and phoenix feather wand. Relief rushed through his body like a flood, calming him down. At least now he had his wand. A small defence in this alien world, but a defense nonetheless.

Shivering, Harry pulled his arms closer around him. Only now that the adrenaline was wearing off did he realise that it was freezing cold. The canopy whispered above him as a breeze wove through it, circling down and whistling past Harry. His robe was forgotten, down in a ditch. He’d taken it off because he didn’t think he’d need a robe at night on an alien planet. Now he cursed his decision. He would have done anything for the extra warmth. He rubbed his hands together and slapped them onto his cheeks, relishing the extra warmth.

He would have to get moving, Harry decided. If he just sat at the base of a tree, he wasn’t going to get any warmer. Better to move around and find shelter than to mope while curled up in roots.

He got up and walked straight ahead, figuring it as good a direction as any. The trees towered over him, trunks as thick as buildings and as tall as skyscrapers. Strange noises filled the night, a horrifying song for a shivering Harry. He didn’t know what was out there or what might pounce out and eat him alive. He was reminded very much of the horror movies that Dudley watched during the summer.

Suddenly Harry felt very much alone. He was on his own.

On a strange world.

Alone. 

Alone

Alonealonealonealonealone!

Panic began to surge up like never before. Where were Ron and Hermione? He needed them, needed Hermione’s soothing voice and Ron’s joyous laughter. His hands began to shake and he sucked in a great breath. 

No.

Not here. Not now. Not while he was alone. 

Deep breaths were coming now, controlled. The panic began to abate, swirling down into his feet and exploding out in a pattern of deep red and black. For a second, it infected the moss he was standing on, a blemish, then disappeared, fading fast. Harry sat down again, leaning against a tree. His eyes were closed and nostrils flared. This was not going to happen here. 

He had to get a grip. 

Okay.

First things first.

Water.

He needed water.

After the panic finally filtered out, Harry coughed and spluttered. His throat was sandpaper, each breath dragging against the dry sides of his throat. It hurt. Oh, God. It hurt.

Harry stumbled up, wand lit up to give him a mite of light. It barely spread three feet, but it was comforting, along with the lights of the forest. Harry’s ears were pricked for any sound of water. A trickle or a rush, it didn’t matter. 

A fern frond crashed into his face and Harry batted it out of the way. He spun around as he did so, stumbling backwards away from the offending plant. He stepped back, glaring at the plant. Of course, even the bloody plant life was against him now. Curse his typical Potter luck.

With his right foot, Harry took another step back, expecting to find ground.

All his foot found was thin air. 

“OH GOD!” he screamed, losing his footing and balance. His arms wheeled around, desperately trying to correct his balance. They only succeeded in propelling him backwards.

And then he was falling fast, air whipping around him. His hands clawed for something, anything, to grasp onto, to break his fall, to stop him from slamming into the ground and losing his life in an instant. Eyes opened wide, tears ran feely but caught on his glasses. Then. A branch slammed into his chest, throwing him out. He spun and spun. His glasses cracked and one of the lenses fell out. 

The his arm found a handhold. His hand closed around it, thankful. But then his arm was ripped out of his socket with a dreadful popping noise and he was falling again, screaming from the agonising pain lashing through his body and arm. He was screaming out loud now. There was no one to hear him. Just the forest. He was going to die. There was no way he could survive a fall of this height. A rushing entered his ears and he knew it was death coming to greet him. What else could it possibly be? What else other than death rising up to catch him in it’s waiting hands? To cradle him and take him away?

The thoughts disappeared in an instant. 

Harry slammed into something hard, his arm jerking back and breath being taken away from him. He fell below the surface and screamed when he couldn’t breathe. Not again. His magic must have reversed the changes. 

Air bubbles floated past his face, silvery and clear. His eyes widened in realisation. He was underwater. The water had broken his fatal fall. Harry pumped his legs and rose up. The light was getting brighter, his air was running out. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side, unable to move. Pain still ricoheted through him like a bullet. But that didn’t matter now. 

The surface so close he could touch it. The water went in everything, his eyes, ears, up his nose. He swallowed a little bit accidentally and cringed at the taste. He was so close to the surface. His air was running out. He wasn’t going to make it. He was still going to die, even underwater.

Black started to cloud his vision, sparks popping in front of his eyes. His fingers reached out, legs still kicking. He started to make sounds at the back of this throat, sounds that he only connected to when Dudley had tried to drown him in the bath when he was seven. He was drowning. His legs were burning. A pillow was being held over his mouth.

His fingers broke the surface. Cold air circled around them. Then his head broke the surface. Cool air went down his throat, even though it still felt like sandpaper. Harry spun around in circles, water splashing and lapping at him. The edge of the water had to be somewhere nearby. He had to find it. His legs gave out and he sank under the surface again. Water clogged his throat. 

No. 

This wasn’t how he was going to die.

Not today.

He broke the surface once again. His right arm made long strokes, pulling him forward. He could see it now, through the freakishly clear water. There, ten meters away, just sitting there, so smug and calm. Like Harry wasn’t struggling for him life, splashing and kicking, swimming clumsily towards it. If only he had gillyweed. 

Finally, his feet found the ground. He stopped kicking, legs on fire and arms like noodles. He clawed his way up the bank, finally on dry ground. He thought he’d never find it, never feel it again.

But here he was. Defying all odds. Alive. Coughing up water on the bank, shivering and soaked, but alive. Breathing. It would take more than just a fall to kill him, he thought through a haze of relief and gratitude. 

Time passed and Harry just lay on the bank, slowly drying out. The air was now warm, warm compared to the frigid water he’d just fallen into. 

Then it hit him. 

Water. He’d been looking for water. And he’d fallen right into it. He began laughing, something he hadn’t done in a long while. Everything was alright. He was alive, soaked and laughing. What more could he want at the moment? Oh, the way life worked sometimes was a thing to marvel at. You want a little water to quench your terrible thirst and nearly drown. But what does it matter? He was here.

Harry slowly crawled to the edge of the water and put cupped his working hand. He cringed at the pain the shot up his left arm. He’d have to do something about it. He tried to fill it with water. It slipped out, sloshing back into the luminescent pool of water. Harry cursed. Deciding he didn’t have anything to lose, Harry bent down and submerged his whole head in the water. He drank it in. 

Cold and soothing, it slipped down his throat. He came back up and breathed a sigh of relief. He at least had access to a pool of relatively clean water. Hopefully there weren’t any mysterious alien bugs in it that would make him sprout a second head.

Satisfied, Harry flopped back and closed his eyes. The world could wait.

First, sleep.

Page break

Harry shot up. Sunlight pounded down on him. He didn’t feel rested in the slightest. There was an aggressive crick pounding in his neck and his body was aching up a storm. Well, that’s what you get for falling asleep on the jungle floor. He groaned and sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. His injured arm screamed at him to stop. The water rippled as he submerged his head to quench his thirst once again. 

Soaked but satisfied, Harry stood. Now that it was daylight, Harry could see the scale of the place he’d landed in. And it was huge. Looking upwards, he could see the cliff he’d fallen off. He was lucky to survive a fall of that magnitude. 

Harry swiveled around, looking for shelter. He was obviously stuck here, spending longer here in than the other places he’d crashed in. He still didn’t know where he was or why he was here. 

His stomach grumbled loudly. Harry placed a hand over it. Food was what he needed. The last time he’d eaten seemed a lifetime ago, in Hogwarts. That was an entire world away. Harry tried to find food, staying within three meters of the pool. No luck. He returned empty handed and slumped down. There was no way he was going to leave behind his water. There had to be food around here somewhere. How else did the animals on the planet survive? Were there other animals? Maybe he’d landed on a planet with water but no food, a planet that teased you with it’s beauty but left you to starve. If that was the case, then Harry was screwed, majorly. He would die a slow death and no one would ever find him…

Abruptly, Harry stood. He wasn’t going to think those thoughts. Those thoughts led to him being destructive, something he didn’t need at the moment. Just because there wasn’t food within a three meter radius of a pool, didn’t mean there wasn’t any on the whole planet. He’d just have to go looking.

Taking a deep breath, Harry stalked off into the jungle again, keeping special note of the location of the pool. To be without water would be disastrous. Very quickly he shed his cardigan and tie, wrapping them both around his waist. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned and he began sweating profusely. 

There. On a small shrub before him was a crop of purple, squishy looking fruit. Harry ran towards them and picked one off. The tree seemed to shudder. Harry ignored it in favour of the slightly furry food in his hand. Should he eat it? It could very well be poisonous. It wasn’t like he had much option. It was a fifty fifty chance. A chance he was going to take, rather stupidly. 

Closing his eyes, Harry bit into the fruit. An awful taste invaded his mouth. He spat it out, wiping his lips and waggling his tongue. The innocent looking fruit was still clutched in his hand. His arm was raised to throw it away before he reconsidered. Food was food, even if it tasted like it was cursed. Shivering, he took a small nibble. It slithered down his throat, slimy and awful. He quickly ate the rest and ran back to the water, leaving the small shrub in the dust. Another plant would have to be found. There was no way he was going to eat that all the time. Surely there was something sweeter.

Harry bent down to wash his mouth out, injured arm lying awkwardly on the ground. He lowered his head and heard a soft sound coming from his right. A small growl accompanied it. Slowly, Harry raised his head up and turned around. 

In the bushes was a dark shape. Harry slowly stood and began to back away as it drew closer. Harry’s eyes widened. The creature was long and lean, with shiny...skin and six legs. There was no time to contemplate why the heck it had six legs though. Harry tore forward, past the creature. It yipped behind him and started running. 

Multiple of the creatures pulled up beside Harry, flanking him. His breath came hard and fast, legs working harder than ever before. Now he was going to be eaten. What a great way to go. One of them nipped at his heels. Harry lurched forward and stumbled. He righted himself. The creatures howled as one before moving in even closer. Harry could see their black teeth, jaws widened in anticipation.

A tree branch, low hanging and covered in moss, came into view. An idea flashed into his head. It was a stupid one, but an idea nonetheless. Panting hard, Harry blinked and grew five feet. His strides increased, as did his speed. He didn’t even bother to look at the creatures pursuing him. They wouldn’t be able to get him.

Harry leaped upwards, reaching out with his arms. He grabbed onto the branch, clinging to moss. He scrambled upwards, hearing the frustrated howls of the creatures below.. He hauled himself upwards, swinging his leg over. Soon he was lying belly down on the branch, the luminescent dots pulsing a deep 

blue. His bow was strung over his back and a quiver was slung low over his hips, filled with arrows. 

For now, he was safe. The creatures below him, at least seven, circled the base of the tree. Harry couldn’t help but smirk. They couldn’t reach him up here. He was safe, free to taunt them.

Then one of them started to climb the tree. His eyes widened and he stood rapidly, keeping his balance well. The rest followed the dark creature, bark and howling at him. Cursing, Harry leaped up to the next gargantuan branch and the next. Surely they wouldn’t follow him up here. But every time he looked down, his pursuers were there, rapidly ascending. Again, Harry cursed. He wasn’t willing to go any higher.

So they would have to fall down.

Trembling, Harry slung his bow off his back and nocked an arrow. Tears flooded from his eyes at what he was about to do. He pulled back an arrow and shot. It missed, sailing off into the trees. He fired another, getting one in the leg. It bayed in pain and fell back, skirting onto a branch and keening softly. They were getting closer and closer. Harry wasn’t about to die.

Then one finally hit home. His final arrow shot through the creatures head. It faltered for a second, before falling down to the ground. Harry’s ears pricked, twitching as it fell to the ground. With a final THUD it collided with the ground. Harry cringed. He’d never killed something, and it wasn’t something he wanted to do again. 

The others were slowing, seemingly conversing with one another. Harry hissed at them, canines bared.

“Go! Get away!” They cowered and soon scampered back down the tree to join their fallen comrade. “Please, go.” Harry’s voice broke. He slid down the trunk of the tree, bow clutched in his hand. He wasn’t supposed to kill anything. Even if they were trying to devour him for breakfast. He listened to the distant yips of the creatures and called out in rage. They didn’t deserve to die.

And so, he sat there, on a branch, high up in a tree, bow in hand and tears on face. This was going to be a long journey.

Page break.

With a flash of bright light, Ron and Hermione fazed back into existence. They fell to the floor, spluttering up water, covered in soot. Compared to where they’d come from, the high tech environment they found themselves in was a welcome sight. Even if the tech was completely unfamiliar to even Hermione, to be in a place that didn’t want to chase after you because you’re a ‘mere mortal’ was soothing.

“Where do you think we’ve ended up this time?” said Ron, sitting up and brushing ash off his arms. His hair was longer, tied back. For at least a year, Ron and Hermione popped through time, spending no longer than a month or two at each place. 

“I’m not sure. I just hope that it’s friendly. And that we don’t traveling to another location or universe.” Ron nodded. One strange thing that puzzled them was legends of the two travelers with mystical powers traveling through time and space. Sure they’d been to many places, but to spawn legends? That was going into territory that neither of them wanted to breach.

“It would be nice, wouldn’t it?” said Ron, running a hand down the side of a horizontal glass cylinder. “What d’you reckon all this is for?” Hermione drew closer.

“I’m really not sure. I think we may be in the future somewhere, maybe in a hospital. This tech is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” She began fiddling with the buttons on a control panel, being careful not to make anything drastic happen. “It is rather odd. These operating systems are for something far more complex than just healing someone. It’s like something was...grown in these tanks.” She was repulsed by 

the idea and stepped away from the tank.

“I think we should get out of here. It’s not safe, not with this type of technology.” She pulled her wand out of her jacket pocket. “Let’s see if these work here. Lumos.” After a slight delay, the end of her wand lit up weakly. Noting it down, put it away and pulled out a pistol from her other pocket. 

“What’re you using that for? I thought that was for when magic wasn’t working. You’re wand lit up, magic works.” 

“Not with a slight delay. If we need to erect a shield, the delay could be fatal. Best to use weapons with a good response time. And no, I’m not shooting to kill, you know that.” Ron relaxed, pulling out a pistol of his own. They were magically modified to never run out of bullets. This helped them many a time in sticky situations that they sometimes found themselves in.

“So, where are we going to go?” Ron pulled open the door, gesturing for Hermione to go through. She giggled, thanking him. 

“I don’t know. How about right?” So they set off, walking down the well lit corridors, sneaking glances into each door they passed. More often than not it was a storage closet, holding science materials with strange names. It was a maze, with twists and turns and corners that doubled back on themselves. Soon, they found a large room with a window looking out onto the world.

Hermione rushed towards it. Any information on where they were was good. Outside was a soaring jungle, trees reaching up to the sky, greener than anything she’d ever seen. One thing was for certain. Earth was left behind.

Ron stood beside her. “It’s not exactly Earth, is it?” 

“I didn’t notice.” Ron shook his head.

“It’s kind of beautiful, isn’t it? So raw and untouched.” Hermione angled his head down to the concrete stretching for miles below them, the gargantuan trucks sitting on it. Ron sighed. “We just have to go and ruin everything, don’t we? Can’t leave a planet untouched.” 

“I guess not. Maybe we’ll find Harry here.” Ron started at the abrupt change in subject. He looked at his feet. Harry was a sore subject for both of them. For all they knew, he was still traveling through time and space, being whisked around by the Portal. Ron didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Now it was more a hope that he would come back to them.

“Let’s not dwell on the sad, Hermione.” She nodded, taking his hand in hers. 

“Yes, let’s not.” The voice came from behind them. Ron and Hermione whipped around, pistols raised and ready to fire. At their legs of course. Never at anything vital. “Woah there, tigers. Time out.”

Two men stood at the entrance to the room. They were unarmed and looking merely curious. One was tall, with a large nose and sandy hair. The other was shorter, with glasses and a darker skin tone. Hermione didn’t lower her weapon. Ron did, putting on the safety and stowing it in his holster. 

“Okay, so tell me one thing,” said the one with a large nose. “How did you get onto Pandora without alerting our systems? Has the RDA developed a new cloaking mechanism? Did they finally figure out teleportation several hundred years to early? And who the hell are you?”

Ron and Hermione blinked, not understanding the gist of the sentence. The man sighed.

“Let me try again. I’m Norm Spellman and this is Max Patel. We live here on Pandora and are the only 

humans left after the others were banished. Surely you know the story of the RDA getting banished off this moon and sent back to Earth?” They both shook their heads.

Norm and Max gaped. 

“That isn’t possible! You have to be bluffing. You must be undercover spies or something, sent here to regain our trust so the RDA can come back to strip Pandora dry. That’s it. I can’t believe they would sink so low as to employ teenagers, though. That really is a new low.” Max paced as he ranted. “How did you get here? And why are you here?”

Hermione holstered her pistol. They were only asking questions. “Okay, first. I don’t know what the RDA is. Second, I don’t know what Pandora is or what you mean by us wanting to bleed it dry. And no, we aren’t undercover spies. We are just people who want to finally land somewhere we can stay without being taken away a month later. So before you make assumptions, please ask us who we are and what we are doing here, because I only know the answer to one of those questions. Best believe it is the former.”

Now it was time for the two scientists to blink. One thing was certain, though.

They had a new case to solve.


End file.
